


Aurora

by AlyxSvoboda125



Series: Aurora Trilogy [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, Bisexual Character, Cultural Differences, Dragons, F/M, Fantasy, High School, Horses, Interracial By Fantasy Standards, M/M, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Near Future, Pegasus Culture, Politics, Romance, War, killer unicorns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-22
Updated: 2014-11-03
Packaged: 2018-02-05 18:39:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 117,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1828293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlyxSvoboda125/pseuds/AlyxSvoboda125
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ana is the good child or was before moving to Eden, a colony on an alien planet inhabited by infamous natives. She'd had 1yr left before she could escape, take up a boring major for a boring career and make her parents proud to help avoid moving all the way to some Trek-y planet with jungles and a hostile population.  But, her luck isn't that good; it's terrible which would explain how she ended up lying on the ground being attacked by a fanged and ferocious mutant mutt and rescued by a dangerous native from the tribe next door. She walks away alive and with enough self control to not scour the jungle for her savior to study him like a science project until the third run-in left them both with an insatiable appetite to dig into cultures foreign and forbidden to them.<br/>Eden's sister colony is under attack, prompting waves of xenophobic sentiment—not at all a civil rights violation waiting to happen—and a dangerous faction of the natives reciprocate. A missing spiritual leader leaves the tribe in the hands of a corroding political machine.  Go to alejandrameetsalyx.wordpress.com for this and the second book</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> This story is the first of a trilogy that I've been writing. The first two books are done and I'm working on the third. Also, if you've read my other original fic, Some Kind of Serendipity, I do plan on writing a sequel that focuses on either Crispin's ex-lover the soccer player or Charlie and Patrick the actors but I probably won't start it until I finish the third and final book in this trilogy, just letting everyone know. Also, this book isn't so much science fiction as you'd probably expect, definitely some kind of cross between Dances with Wolves and Avatar (the one with the blue people). It's more focused on the journey between the two characters and the way they grow together rather than the futuristic setting and technology developed during the time period. So...that being said enjoy my baby.

_"These wars appear also to have given its death blow to colonialism and to imperialism in its colonial form, under which weaker peoples were treated as possessions to be economically exploited. At least we hope that such colonialism is on the way out."_ **Emily Greene Balch**

_“There are but two roads that lead to an important goal and to the doing of great things: strength and perseverance. Strength is the lot of but a few privileged men; but austere perseverance, harsh and continuous, may be employed by the smallest of us and rarely fails of its purpose, for its silent power grows irresistibly greater with time.”_ **― Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, Faust**

* * *

 

"If we get caught here, we're gonna be in so much trouble," I whisper to my brother, wrapping my arms across my chest and shooting him an alarmed glance whilst trying to keep my nerves under control.  Keeping my cool isn't working and neither is my attempt to get warm; it's times like this that I regret not listening to my mother when she tells me things like "wear you winter coat" despite the fact that we supposedly live in a subtropical, generally humid paradise.   

"Relax, Anastasia, try to live a little," my brother dismisses my worries, linking his arm through mine as he leads us between a pair of sloping trees covered in bright green moss.  They lean against each other precariously like they'd topple without the other's support.   

How did he know where he was going?  Why am I following him?  This is a kid who used to get lost at a high school he'd attended since _freshmen_ year, and yet, I'm letting him lead me around the woods…in the dark…when there's no path.  There's something wrong with this picture.   

I scoff at my brother's rather chipper words and scowl.  "Easy for you to say," I grumble, barely catching myself as I trip over an exposed root on the dark ground...I hate high heels.   

Pollux, my twin brother, is the 'bad seed' of the family or, at least, he used to be.  Back home, he'd been the party-hard playboy who got brought home every other weekend by the local cops, either intoxicated or baked.  He is pierced, tattooed, and has the rough, gravelly voice of a chain smoker—not a surprise since he'd started at thirteen and had continued until moving to Eden where the price of a single pack is astronomical.  He makes an effort to hide his shortcomings from our younger sister, Jacinta, and succeeds on the whole, though a few of his questionable attributes slip through the cracks like his man-whoring and cursing.  

On the other side of the genetic material, I am the good child.  The one who doesn't go to wild parties, doesn't lie to our parents, and has never done drugs or drank alcohol.  I'm the one who's going to pass my SATs, go to a great college, and get a fantastic job working in business or finance or medicine or something equally as _thrilling_.   

I sigh and shake off my melancholia, "Do you actually know where we're going?"   

"Yes," Pollux nods, biting his lip, and I narrow my eyes at him suspiciously, "Okay, so no."  I throw my hands up in the air in exasperation, shooting him an angry look as I stalk away from him.  "Chillax, Anastasia, I'll call Marley.  She knows."   

"You're going to call your air-headed, blonde bimbo booty call for directions?"  I inquire in disbelief.  Marley is sweet as pie; she's also a slut with barely two brain cells to rub together in her platinum blonde dyed head.   

"Well, when you put it like that—"  Pollux rolls his eyes at me.   

"Lux!  This is Marley Simpson we're talking about.  She got lost walking to the playground."   

"So?"   

"It's attached to our school!"  Pollux shoots me a haughty look, huffing and shaking his head.  I cross my arms over my chest and raise my eyebrows at him, a sudden idea forming in my head, "Call Nick."  

Pollux freezes immediately, not even turning around to look at me, " _You_ call Nick."   

"He doesn't even know me," I respond while Pollux gives me a dark look, though he doesn't argue because he knows it's true.  My heart pounds excitedly, and I fight a smile as he reaches in his pocket to pull out his cell phone and call the boy I've been trying to force him to kiss and make up with since their falling out nearly two months ago.  

"Pollux!  Anastasia!  Why the hell are you two just standing in the woods?"  We both turn to see the vague outline of Hadley Rinaldi standing between the trees, shockingly not attached to her boyfriend, Jackson Andrews, like the barnacle she is.   

Pollux shoots me a triumphant grin, pointedly dropping his cell back in his pocket, and I shake my head at his oh-so-very lucky timing... _saved by the fucking bell_.  He grabs my hand and tows me over to Hadley, keeping me at a careful pace to ensure that I don't trip in my evil wedges even as he tosses Hadley a charming grin, "Sorry, Had, you know how good Anastasia is with directions."  He shrugs apologetically while I shoot him a death glare that he ignores.  Asshole.   

Hadley giggles, melting under his smile like most girls do, "It's fine.  You should call next time.  I mean, can you imagine what would happen if you'd gone any deeper into the forest?"   

"What do you mean?"  I ask, frowning and looking between a disgusted Hadley and a guilty Pollux.   

"The Tstori Res is a little over half a mile away," Hadley replies while Pollux runs a hand through his hair, glaring into the tree line.   

I look at Pollux, "Are you for real?  I mean I knew wandering into the woods for a Halloween party with a bunch of party-hard high schoolers was sketchy and dangerous, but have you completely lost it Lux?"   

"Can you give us a minute, Hadley?"  He inquires, oozing charm, but she hesitates, looking between us.   

"Um...sure, the cabin's just over this hill," Hadley informs us, still seeming unsure whether or not to leave Pollux to my tender mercies.  Apparently, she's got more common sense than I thought.  I force a smile for her, and she blanches before sparing us one last look and vanishing as quickly as she'd appeared.   

"I can explain," Pollux says the moment she disappears, and I turn on him.   

"I can't _wait_ to hear this Lux," I can feel myself fuming as I pin him with a glare.  If looks could kill he'd be skewered with his innards spread across the ground for wild animals to eat like road kill.  As it is, I consider doing it with my bare hands; I doubt, under the circumstances, either of my parents would blame me for my brash actions.  They'd be just as livid at him as I am.   

"This is the party of the year, Anastasia!"  I roll my eyes and raise my eyebrows at him, daring him to continue down that particular line of thought, we both know that's not a reason I consider acceptable.  He sighs, running his hands through his thick, shoulder length waves of hair, "Please.  Mom and Dad wouldn't let me go without you, and I'm meeting Marley here.  And it's _fun_.  It's _normal_.  It feels like we're still at home."   

I hesitate, my anger draining as I think over his words and understand where he's coming from.  We'd lived here since the beginning of the school year, and despite how our parents had told us it was 'remarkably like home' and 'surprisingly familiar', none of my siblings or I have adjusted well to the change.  We'd spent most of our childhood living in Niagara City, running back and forth on the Canadian-American border while our parents worked and traveled near constantly.  Mom is a scientist who'd worked in some government run lab hidden in the city, doing some top secret project with a joint force of British, Canadian, and American scientists.  Our father is a Marine, dedicated and hardened, always away on assignment.  We'd moved from cold but bustling Niagara to a subtropical colony of less than two thousand people, most of whom are military personnel or scientists.   

Gazing at my brother for a moment longer, I sigh, frustrated, before shaking my head and glaring into the shadowy forest, "Ugh, fine, but this is why you need to make nice with Nick.  They like him too!"   

Pollux snorts derisively and begins walking up the steep ridge, "They like all the _Ashfords_."   

My stomach twists in guilt; I grimace and follow him.  We climb together, and at the top, we can see the small cabin, door wide open as people filter in and out, all incapable of fitting inside at the same time.  Music pours from the mouth of the bouncing building, and I look over at Pollux whose jaw is set.  "Sorry," I offer in reference to my callous comment about his and Nick's broken friendship; my word-vomit strikes again.  

He waves me off, "Try to have fun, okay?"   

I give him a doubtful look as we approach the crowded building when suddenly a chubby, short figure comes flying out the doorway, stopping only inches away from us.  She shakes her head and looks up, grinning at us widely, "Lux!  You brought Ana!  Did you bribe her?"  

Pollux smiles, "Nope, kidnap."   

"Went all Buffalo Bill on her ass, huh?"  My hysterical Mexican bestie asks cheerfully, brushing her overgrown side-bangs out of her face.  Suddenly, my night doesn't look like it'll be so bad.  After all, Xochitl is just as socially boring as me; we're the type of people who see children's movies together and 'hang out' with each other by texting via social networking sites even though we're sitting side-by-side.  She's crazy and dark and hilarious and just about one of the only people who could make me enjoy this night other than my brother who'll be too busy sucking face with his dyed-blonde bimbo hook up to keep me entertained.   

"Um...ew, no, he didn't kidnap me to skin me alive and wear me like a wetsuit, gross."   

Pollux looks just as disgusted, "Happy Halloween to you too.  Do you really think I'm that big of a psycho?"   

"Of course not," Xochitl says dismissively and rather unconvincingly, "what are you supposed to be?"  

I roll my eyes while Pollux grins, "A hockey player."   

"It so doesn't count if you go to Halloween as yourself," I reply while Pollux just shakes his head.   

"You're just jelly of my epic costume."  

"Blasphemy!"  I shout at him, and his grin widens.   

"Bullshit!  You went as fucking wallpaper!"   

Xochitl looks me up and down, eyebrows raised.  From head to toe, I'm wearing charcoal and black with an elegant pattern on my dress, tights, and long-sleeved undershirt.  The only thing not patterned is my black sweater and wedge boots.  She shakes her head at me sadly, "You're serious?"  

"Look who's talking, what are you a disaster movie reject?"  

"A zombie!"  

Pollux and I look at each other before turning to her, "Fail."  Her costume consists of a blotched makeup job, a pair of ripped jeans, and a button up that looks like it went through a shredder over a black undershirt.  None of us push it, though, the long trip from Earth to Aurora meant most of the colony had been hard pressed to find decent costumes.  

"Lux!"  A high-pitched feminine voice screeches from somewhere in the crowd, and I roll my eyes while Xochitl grimaces.  Pollux shoots me a look that warns me to swallow my tongue and not say a word just as Marley comes flying from the crowd.  She plasters every inch of her body to my brother's and wraps her arms tightly around his neck in a fierce and disturbingly sensual hug.  Xochitl rolls her eyes heavenward while I pretend to gag.  Marley giggles coyly, and we both feign indifference as they break apart for a moment before Marley's lips slam against Pollux's.  Xochitl wrinkles her nose while I look away in disgust.  

Marley Simpson is the pinnacle of high school beauty queens.  Had we not been living in a colony of less than two thousand, she'd probably be prom queen, cheerleading captain, and be in training to become a trophy wife.  As it is, she spends most of her time hanging out with a group of equally air-headed girls jumping from guy to guy like a frog...or a virus.  The girl is disgustingly gorgeous, stereotypically so, with a long mane of layered platinum blonde hair, ice blue eyes, stark white teeth, and a lithe, muscular body that most boys at school drool over.  She's also easy, which is the _real_ reason she's my brother's type, not her perfect looks.  However, despite this, she's not a _mean_ girl.  Actually, Mom told me that she thinks Marley's too stupid to be a mean girl, but regardless, Marley has hated me with a passion since performing in our one and only school play.  I'd reviewed her on the school website and said that she was 'perfect for the part of Helena _only_ because of her earth-shattering beauty' but that Marley had 'not the talent, coordination, or intelligence to play a character that was as manipulative and cunning as she was beautiful'.  I guess it pissed her off a little...once she figured out what it meant.  

Pollux and Marley separate, and she looks at me, faking a smile, "Anastasia.  What are you supposed to be?  Vampira?"   

I roll my eyes at her beyond ancient reference and cross my arms over my chest, running my gaze over her barely-there 'bunny' costume, "Marley.  What are you supposed to be?  A hooker?"  

"Okay," Pollux interrupts us, giving me a glare that I ignore, shrugging at him innocently, "we're gonna go.  I'll meet you here at one."   

"Eleven," I retort, looking around at the overwhelming hoard of classmates and doubting I can make it even that long.   

"Twelve."   

"Done," I grin at him, kissing his cheek.  "Have fun...but not too much fun.  My future niece or nephew needs to have a brain, thank you."  Pollux rolls his eyes and waves me off, putting an arm around her scantily clad body as she shoots me one last glare.  I wave at her pointedly with a huge smile on my face before turning back to Xochitl and putting my hands on my hips, "So...where can a girl get a _non-alcoholic_ beverage in this shack?  I'm dying here."  I smile, linking my arm through hers as she beams up at me, adjusting her destroyed button-up.   

"Well, it'll be difficult but I'm sure we can find _something_ ," Xochitl responds, and we dive into the crowd.   

I hate parties because I hate crowds, people, and sweat, especially other people's sweat.  Parties are loud and disgusting and headache-inducing and always leave me feeling like I need to take a scolding hot shower afterwards...or five.  This party is no different; it's hosted by Tyler and Julianne Nicholls, the two most popular kids at our tiny local high school, and two of the richest kids in town, rivaling the wealth of the Ashford family.  Personally, I don't like Tyler or Julianne, but I'd gotten an invite anyway since our junior class is minuscule, so minuscule that they'd also invited the entirety of our high school—freshmen through seniors—to make it feel like there even is a party going on.   

Inside the cabin, the air is musty and stifling, spirals of sweet-but-rancid smelling smoke coiling into the air and combining with the dry, stifling clouds of tobacco exhaust.  There is barely a patch of fresh air; people press against each other like sardines, grinding and bumping against one another because there is simply no room for any other kind of movement.  Multi-colored lights flicker out of time with the bass-heavy music that floods my senses and makes my head pound.   

It takes us a ridiculously long time just to move across the dance floor to the makeshift bar, which consists of a couple folding tables with bowls of chips, cookies, and M&Ms on top.  Drinks sit at the end in half-empty two liter bottles of Sprite, Orange Crush, and Coca-Cola.  I sigh, wishing that I could go home just so that I can buy a twelve pack of Root Beer, sit in front of a flat screen, and watch teen soaps while eating a Root Beer Float with chocolate fudge brownie ice cream that didn't cost me an arm and a leg _and my soul_ to buy.  Either way, I pour myself a cup of coke and lean against the wall behind the table.  

Xochitl stands beside me and prattles on and on about her crazy family who, unlike most people, had moved here as a huge, extended family unit and live in apartments right beside each other, throwing parties every weekend.  I smile at her and let myself absorb the words she shouts over the music; somedays, I think I live vicariously through her since my extended family is so dysfunctional that holiday reunions had often spiraled into screaming matches and death threats.  The only members of my family that I actually like besides occasionally my mother and siblings are my paternal grandparents.  They're snippy but sweet Greek immigrants who own a little Greek restaurant and bakery in New York City.   

"There you are!"  Someone exclaims, and we both look up to see Xochitl's boyfriend, Quinn, materializing from the crowd and coming towards us.   

Quinn is the epitome of Xochitl's type, and after half a dozen terrible boyfriends, the fact that she found Quinn on an alien planet in a tiny colony is ridiculously serendipitous.  He's eighteen, alabaster pale, and sexy as hell with shaggy black hair that falls into dark eyes and a perpetual smile on his face.  He's also a musician who formed Eden Colony's first and only band, Citizen's Arrest.  The boy is ridiculously sweet, funny, and adorable with a strong sense of right and wrong and dotes on Xochitl constantly without smothering her.  They look at each other and the whole world just seems to stop between the two of them, standing still in a crystalline bubble.  It's beautiful and sickening.   

"Here we are," Xochitl repeats with a sweet smile as she wraps her arms around his waist, hugging him tightly.   

Quinn looks at me over her head and gives me a small finger wave before kissing her forehead, "Am I hallucinating or is _Anastasia Mikos_ really at a party?"   

Xochitl laughs and breaks away from him, lacing her fingers through his.  I roll my eyes and punch him lightly on the shoulder, "Ha.  Ha.  That's very funny, Quinn, you think you're a comedian or something?"   

"Of course not, I'm Batman, can't you tell?"   

I frown, eyeing his black-on-black ensemble and the thin black blanket wrapped around his shoulders.  Xochitl bites her lip and tries not to laugh.  I shake my head, "Wearing a blankie and Batman Converse does not make you Batman; it makes you _lazy_."   

Quinn rolls his eyes and looks down at Xochitl, "You friend's crazy, Xochi.  I look like Batman, right?"  

Xochitl looks away guiltily and glances at me with wide eyes, though I smirk, refusing to rescue her, "Sure...like a knock-off Batman.  But I admire you for trying."   

"Where's the love?"   

"With Christian Bale," I remark with a wide smile, and Xochitl shrugs, grinning cheekily at her boyfriend.   

He scoffs, "I see how it is.  Just for that, you, Mexican, and me, not Mexican, shall dance."   

"No," she says automatically, fighting a smile even though she is dead serious.   

Quinn raises an eyebrow at her and nods decidedly, "Um-hm."  

"Have fun," I tell her sarcastically, smirking. 

"I...no, I've...Ana.  I can't just leave Anastasia alone here to fend off the wolves and act like a wallflower."   

Turning to look at me, Quinn pouts and gives me puppy dog eyes while Xochitl shakes her head mouthing the word 'NO'.  I smile smugly at Xochitl, "No, don't stay on my account.  Nicci told me that she'd swing by so I'll just go look for her while you two do the deed."  

"That's why I love you, Anastasia," Quinn grins, grabbing Xochitl's hand and dragging her onto the dance floor.  

Xochitl looks over at me and mouthes, 'I hate you.'   

I smile and wave at her, shaking my head and leaning back against the wall.  I pull out my cell, checking for any texts from Nicci.   

None.   

I sigh; she swore she'd be coming to the party, so where the hell is she?  Nicci isn't the kind of person to miss dates that she sets for herself; besides, she was planning on dragging her overachieving, adorable, but nerdy posse along with her so that, they too, could experience the real world.   

Rolling my eyes, I stuff the cell back in my sweater pocket and down the rest of my coke, tossing the cup into the trash.  My eyes shift to the dance floor where Xochitl and Quinn move in sync, talking and laughing as they dance sarcastically to the music, alone in their own little world.  I smile at the pair before slipping into the crowd, weaving in between bodies and looking left and right for any sign of Nicci or her two partners in grade curve-destroying crime, Angela and Santiago.   

Outside, the music can still be heard pounding, and a crowd surrounds the cabin like it's the nucleus of an atom, swaying and dancing to the hypnotic music.  I peer around as I walk gingerly, trying not to stumble over my own feet.  Briefly, I catch sight of Pollux sitting by the fire, laughing with a group of his sketchier friends, Marley perched on his lap alternating between kissing his neck and looking bored.  Shaking my head and rolling my eyes, I continue circling the cabin; I slam into someone and mumble an apology, running a hand through my hair and looking up to see Nick Ashford sucking face with Julianne Nicholls not two feet from me.   

My mouth drops open, and a small squeak of surprise pops out automatically.  Somehow, Nick hears over the roar of the crowd and the beat of the music, looking up and directly into my eyes, guilt and fear rising in the back of his.  Julianne just glares at me for interrupting her heated make out.  I shake my head in disbelief, lips pressed together tightly with anger and to keep myself from screaming at him.  I turn and just walk, unsure where I'm going.   

"Mikos!  Mikos!  Ana, please wait!"  I hear Nick call, but I keep walking until his hand grasps my arm tightly but not painfully, yanking me around to face him, "Don't...I just...we can't all be Pollux okay?  We can't all just be that goddamned comfortable with ourselves!"   

I shove him away from me, shaking my head angrily, "Get over yourself, Nick!  You need to figure this shit out, because I won't let my brother be hurt by someone as pathetic as you."   

"That's not fair," Nick begins, his neck and ears turning red in anger.   

"What's 'not fair' is what you're doing to my brother and to Julianne and to yourself."   

"Don't even try to pretend like you give two shits about Julianne—"   

"You're right, I don't.  But it's my brother's emotions you're playing with.  The world doesn't revolve around _you_.  Figure out what you want, okay?"  I shake my head and turn to continue walking, not quite sure where I'm going but just needing to move, to breathe fresh air and be away from that stifling little cabin for a little while.  My phone vibrates in my pocket, and I finally stop, yanking it out and staring down at the massive LCD screen, frowning.

**Lux <3: Where r u? Nicci @ bonfire looking for u    **

Frowning, I stop, looking up at the dark sky; stars twinkle brightly in the distance, much brighter than the stars at home do.  Just a little ways off, two moons, side by side, glow iridescently, spilling light onto the forest and making eerie, towering shadows.  I know it's time to go back, but everything in me begs to stay here just a little while longer in the chilly, shadowy forest, looking up at the sky, because when I go back everything will still be there.  My wild brother who knows what he wants and is trying to hide how much it hurts him that he can't have it.  My best friend who has the most ridiculous love life I've ever seen but never seems to regret anything.  A group of rich bitches who hate my guts because I have no filter.  A father I rarely see and who I wish would go away when I do.  A mother who can't seem to realize how detrimental this move has been to both her already deteriorating marriage and her children's lives.  A sister who needs all the help she can get to grow into the woman she can someday be.  So, I close my eyes, tilting my head back to the night sky and letting the moonlight spill over me, making my skin tingle where the cool light hits it.  I bite my lip and smile slightly, standing there like that even when my phone vibrates again...and again...and _again_.   

There's a rustle, and something growls.   

Every muscle in my body tenses as my eyes pop open to look around me; at first, there seems to be nothing so I take a step in the direction I've come.  The growl pierces the tranquil, quiet night, menacing and intent, and is followed by the sound of branches snapping.  I remain as still as possible, my breathing going shallow as adrenaline races through my body, getting me prepared to run, though I doubt I'll be able to get far.   

A pair of eerie yellow eyes meet mine a moment before the creature itself emerges from the dark underbrush.   

The beast looks canine, hunchbacked, and about the size of a medium-sized dog with wiry fur, spikes like a hedgehog coming out of his back and continuing down along its spine.  The animal flashes wicked sharp claws, a short tail, and thick legs that seem designed for pouncing.  The most prominent feature is its pointed, almost rat-like face.  The animal bares its teeth, and my blood turns to ice as I stare at the two glistening, threatening fangs hanging out of its mouth.   

"Chupa-fucking-cabra," I shake my head slowly, putting a hand in front of my mouth to keep from crying, "I want to go home."   

The hound's legs tense, and my own muscles follow suit, one hand remaining pressed against my mouth to keep myself quiet while the other moves to my pocket, slowly withdrawing the pocketknife my father had insisted I carry around since we'd moved here.  There's no way that I can run from this thing; Xochitl had freaked out when she'd heard the mythical Mexican vampiric canine is, in fact, real.  And Mom had later explained her reaction, giving me one long look and telling me to stay out of the forest.  "You can't run from that thing," she'd said, "I've seen it move, and you won't make it far."   

The blade pops out, and I meet the canine's eyes.    

It springs.   

Moving as quickly as possible, I throw the knife at it, jumping out of the way.  The chupacabra slams into the ground with a yelp, struggling to its feet, and I know that the knife made impact.  The chupacabra glares up at me with a malicious look, and my eyes widen as I curse.  The knife must have missed the heart, which shouldn't be surprised considering on a good day, when I'm standing still mere feet from the target, my aim is skewed.   

While the animal struggles to its feet, I bolt, running as quickly as possible through the forest in whatever direction.  I hear the sound of paws thudding on the ground behind me, and my heart leaps into my throat as I continue to run...in wedges.  _Goddamn it, this is the last time I wear heels...ever...for any fucking reason._   It's impossible running from a chupacabra under normal circumstances; I may have stabbed it, but with me running in high heels, I'm probably right back where I was five minutes ago just without a knife this time.  The sound of wind whooshing in my ears as well as my own breathing drowns out any others; I have no idea where the chupacabra is, how close it is.   

Like the B-list horror movie my life is, my foot catches, and I slam onto the ground, barely having enough time to throw out my hands to break the fall.  Ignoring the pain in my wrists and hands, I struggle to rip off the boots, cursing and halting when my ankle screams out in protest at even the slightest movement.  I bite my lip and fight tears as I pry the boot off my foot despite the pain, and as I move to get to my feet, my eyes catch on the chupacabra leaping through the air straight towards me.   

Swallowing hard, I press a hand to my chest and force my eyes to stay open.  If this is my last moment of life then I'll be damned if I don't see every single detail, even the massive, blood-sucking hound flying towards me with my only weapon stuck in its chest _not killing it._   My hand grips the moss-covered ground below, and I'm so focused on the dog feet from my face that I don't notice the object spinning through the air towards the canine's skull until it pierces through cleanly.  Swiftly, the light leaves the animal's eyes, and it drops on top of me.  Dead.   

For a moment, I remain there before frantically crawling back and out from under the animal, getting to my feet and ignoring the pain in my ankle.  I cross my arms over my chest and try to catch my breath.  My eyes remain on the chupacabra for a moment until the sound of branches cracking under feet yanks my attention to the source of the sound.  Standing across from me isn't another chupacabra but a native, watching me cautiously; just behind him, a massive horse stands silently in the shadows, tossing its mane but otherwise remaining still.   

The native looks just a little older than myself with straight, shoulder-length, shaggy black hair that falls heavily into a pair of striking, liquid golden eyes.  He wears what I assume to be traditional Tstori tribal clothes: a pair of brown, fitted pants tucked into boots, and a decorated tunic.  Darkness shrouds him, obscuring all but the few characteristics that peg him as one of the Tstori, but, regardless, I've never seen a native this close before, not at all actually since they never exactly wander into the colony, choosing to stay with their tribe on the reservation.  I stand stock still, everything I've been told about them running through my head, and while I don't exactly _believe_ the stories, I've certainly had enough adventure for one night.   

The man looks at me for a moment before closing the distance, keeping his eyes on me as he bends down to pull his bone hilted knife out of the chupacabra, a strange pendant swinging from the end.  He cleans the blade on the hem of his pants before grabbing the chupacabra carcass and hauling it back to the horse.  I remain still as he drops the knife into the sheath on his strange, woven, makeshift saddle, tying the chupacabra to the horse before mounting smoothly.  He pauses just a minute to meet my eyes again, amusement seeming to dance in the back of them, and he whirls the horse around, vanishing to the forest as suddenly as he'd appeared.   

I flinch when my phone rings, breaking my reverie.  I shake my head and pull it out, answering it quickly and trying to keep my voice calm, "Lux?  I need you."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I re-read this whole manuscript today (go me!) and yep, this first chapter is not my favorite but I promise it gets better. It really does. Anyway, on to the next one.


	2. Chapter Two

Eden Colony Township is a really long, really fancy way of saying that my town is a combined international military and research base sponsored by a combination of the wealthy entrepreneurs and corporations as well as a handful of government groups.  It is also an experiment of sorts, a social one and a scientific one, to see if a colony on a place like this could support a population of humans successfully.  According to my mother, what they meant by that was: can this place support people, real people not just scientists and soldiers but artisans, business owners, and their families and not become like Jamestown or, even worse, Roanoke?   

The colony is privately endowed mainly by three entrepreneurial millionaires who also live and have their hands in nearly every pie within the colony, Adam Nicholls, Henry Ashford, and his ice queen, yet total boss lady wife, Charlotte Ashford; though, the colony is mainly the brain child of a privately owned but government funded organization, the North America Allied Federation (NAAF for short), which had procured the proper paperwork, worked closely with NASA, and had contracted the perfect people to build the town as well as to work within.   

Eden colony was the first of its kind, and Mom and Dad had helped to build it, which makes them both immensely proud.  I, on the other hand, could care less.  When my parents had first pitched us the idea of living in Eden they'd used terms like 'moving', 'going out of state', and 'a lot like home'.  In fact, they should have been using terms like 'think James Cameron's Avatar just a lot less safe and high-tech', 'out of planetary', and 'like living in a sci-fi movie without all the cool gadgets'.  Eden sits on a fairly recently discovered planet that is capable of supporting life, if its prior inhabitants are any indication.  After the shock and the years of calling it Planet Y (since NASA already had a Planet X), it was later renamed in traditional style, after a Roman god, and I certainly admire the attempt at continuity.   

Aurora, named after the minor Roman goddess of the dawn, is not everything they hoped it would be.  When NAAF teamed up with Nicholls, who owns a major technological empire, and Ashford, who owns an umbrella company that does a little of everything but mostly works in import/export, they sent the first wave of contracted Marines in to survey the planet and find a suitable place to set up a colony, if it was even possible.  They chose Eden, a site that sits squarely between a huge expanse of plains now used for farming, a rainforest that had the strangest layout, similar to that of the uppermost land of Canada, and an ocean inlet.   

However, Aurora is not another Earth.  According to my mother and her colleagues, the air is breathable, but that doesn't stop them from administering shots to help the body cope with atmospheric changes before the trip and weekly vitamin supplementals.  Mom swears that it's just a precaution, that living on Eden is a lot like living on the top of like Mount Everest when it comes to oxygen and the atmosphere.  The animals that live on the planet, some are similar in looks and behaviors while only their genetic makeup can mark them as different from our breeds while others are the stuff of nightmares, horror stories told on Earth: chupacabras, sea monsters, dragons.  Even common known knowledge about temperature changed, North being warm since the northern most part of the planet is under constant sunlight, sort of like the equator, while the southern most part is in constant darkness and ice, sort of like the Antarctic.  The seas are unpredictable, violent, and frightening, which Mom blames on the two moons that the planet possesses, but the scariest part are the natives who, unlike the Native American tribes, refused to be conquered or expelled from their own lands.  The horror tales spun about them are as fabulous as they are outrageous.   

I feel like I'm existing in a dream world, as if I'm living in Star Trek without the added bonus of a _single_ enemy to point fingers at.  There is no one to blame for being on Aurora, not even my parents, both of whom had been assigned their posts by shadowy superiors.  My siblings and I had simply been brought along to act in a ridiculous social experiment as opposed to studying planet life and reaping the planet's natural resources.   

"Ms. Mikos!"  Someone screeches, and I look up, already blushing, to find Ms. Samuels, the science teacher, standing in front of me brandishing a yard stick.  What year does she think this is again?  "I asked if you're listening to me."   

"Um...yes?"  

The class sniggers, and I flush while Ms. Samuels just narrows her eyes on me, "Oh?  And what have we spent the last fifteen minutes talking about while you were 'listening'?"   

I bite my lip guiltily, eyes shifting to Pollux who scribbles down hastily on his notebook before holding it up for me to read: DARWIN THEORIES.  Fighting a smile, I clear my throat, "We were talking about Darwin's law of natural selection as well as his theory on the evolution of species discussed in his book, _Origin of Species_.  We were also discussing how those theories relate to the veritable plants and animal life here on Aurora compared to Earth."  The last part is a gamble, but Ms. Samuels purses her lips and storms to the front of the classroom, pissed I got it right.  I exhale in relief and give Pollux a thankful smile.   

"And Zinnia got out last night, I'm so worried about her all alone with all those dangerous monsters running around.  She's too delicate for Eden," Olivia Pemberton laments to her lab partner and my friend, Nicci, who looks like she's trying hard not to roll her eyes at the girl.   

"Excuse me, Ms. Pemberton, do you have something you need to share with the class?"  Ms. Samuels calls her out, raising an eyebrow, challenging her.   

Olivia looks like a dear caught in the headlights, "N-n-no, Ms. Samuels.  We're just talking about how the principles of natural selection will—" she stops, obviously not sure where to go with that line of thought.   

"—will ensure that Olivia's cat ends up the meal to some chupacabra," Nicci supplies with a benevolent smile, mischief lurking just behind it.  Olivia shoots her a death glare.   

"Ms. Pemberton," Olivia looks at Ms. Samuels in alarm, "is your partner telling me that a house cat has managed to escape from its home and has invaded the woods surrounding this town?"   

"Well, I wouldn't say 'invaded'—"   

"What would you say?"   

"It's one cat.  One _spoiled_ cat.  It's not like she's a hostile army."   

"Oh no?  Can anyone tell me what we talked about last week?"   

Nicci put up her hand with yet another demure smile, "Invasive species."   

"Exactly, it may only seem like one house cat, but it has no natural predators here.  Your cat has the potential to damage the entire ecosystem surrounding this town, screwing up the studies of the biologists who have been working tirelessly to determine how similar this ecosystem is to our own."   

"Zinnia is a Russian Blue not the ecological anti-Christ!"  Olivia shoots back angrily, "This fucking planet has chupacabras and sea monsters and freaking _dragons_ , and you're going to freak out about my cat?"   

"It's not about braun; it's about brains, Olivia. I have no doubt your feline could outcompete a lot of species on this planet.  Cats will slowly rise on the food chain with no natural predators and outcompete indigenous species.  You've possibly released the 'Antichrist' to many species.  Let's hope it gets eaten before it reproduces."  Olivia's mouth drops open; Ms. Samuels continues, "Now you can all thank you classmate for the five paragraph essay you now have about invasive species, the threats they pose to the indigenous population, why they become invasive, and what people can do.  Have a good weekend," Ms. Samuels says over the blaring of the bell, and I get up walking towards Pollux who's giving Olivia a death glare as she ducks her head and practically runs from the room full of angry teenagers.   

Smacking his arm lightly, I shake my head, "Hey, no.  Let's go drama queen."   

"God, she's a dumbass," Pollux responds, shoving his notebook into has messenger bag and tossing it over his shoulder; I wave goodbye to Nicci and Xochitl as they exit the classroom.   

I roll my eyes at him, "You would know."   

"Not everyone I date is—" he begins as he gets up, linking his arm through mine as we walk towards the door.   

"No, I'll give you that.  _Just_ everyone you hook up with."   

Pollux gives me a dark look as we leave the classroom, stopping abruptly to watch with a steely expression as Nick glides past us, his arm around Julianne's lace-clad shoulders and her backpack thrown over his own.  I give him a pointed look once they disappear into the crowd and he holds up a hand, shaking his head, "Don't say it."   

"Don't say what?  What does your tiny little brain assume I am going to say, hmm?"   

"That I should 'talk to him'.  That I should try to work things out to salvage my friendship.  That I'm being 'immature' about this," Pollux rolls his eyes while I nod diligently before laughing and shaking my head.   

"Actually, I was gonna suggest we break his kneecaps."   

"Oh yeah? Sounds like a fun way to spend the weekend," Pollux says lightly, a slight smile on his face.   

I shrug and give him a cheeky grin, "Oh I agree, but, in all seriousness, I don't think you're being immature.  He is.  The only thing he's doing is lying to himself; you can lead a horse to water..."   

"Ass.  He's an ass...in the biblical sense," Pollux corrects me lightly, smiling.   

"Of course, the biblical sense...not even a little bit literally..."   

Pollux grins, "Maybe a _tiny_ bit literal, but I'm scorned so you'll have to take everything I think about him with a grain of salt."  He shrugs as we step out of the cramped, dim school building into the crisp, fresh, though slightly humid air of the outside world, the sun shining down on us, "Are you and your posse doing anything after school today or are we actually going to get to do a game night with Jacinta?"   

"Me and _our friends_ aren't doing anything, so yes to game night, but I'll meet you at the house, okay?"   

"Why?"  Pollux asks, raising an eyebrow and leaning against the wall of the staircase.   

"Mom sent me on an errand.  They need to send pictures back to the field office of the ocean and the beach; Mom asked me to take hers so that she could finish collecting data on her seawater slides or whatever so that she can have time off for Thanksgiving," I shrug like its no big deal.    

Pollux looks at me like I've lost it, "Is mom on crack?  Where the hell are you going out to?"   

"The overhang just past the trading post," I shrug again.  Pollux looks both livid and incredulous.   

"Are you shitting me?" He demands while I roll my eyes; I knew he'd act this way, which is why I hadn't told him earlier.  He's overprotective... _ugh twins_.  Pollux glares at me, "You have another week before the doctor will even _think_ of taking that sprint off.  What happens if you get attacked by something again?  What are you gonna do?  Run?"   

I give him a dark but sarcastic look, "Don't be silly.  I'm gonna jump off the cliff into the ocean.  I mean I think my chances are pretty good."   

Pollux scoffs at my attempt at humor, "Right, then how are you gonna get to shore?  You gonna swim all the way back with your bum ankle, gimpy?"   

Sighing, I give a weak smile, unable to be mad at him for caring about my safety, "I get it, Lux, but Mom wouldn't have sent me out there if she thought anything was going to happen to me—" that is a lie "—besides, what are the chances I'll get stalked by another chupacabra?"   

"Or saved by another native?"   

I ignore his comment, "It's like being struck by lighting or attacked by a shark.  Once in a lifetime, you know.  But I'll have my phone on me the whole time, and I'll call you if anything happens.  I swear."   

"And you'll text me when you leave so I don't worry?"   

"I promise, Mom," I tell him sarcastically while he rolls his eyes.   

"Be good daughter, and do remember, I can track your phone."   

"As long as you remember that's not much of a threat since you're going to do it anyway," I call over my shoulder with a laugh.  Pollux gives me the finger but doesn't deny it, not that he has the chance when a human bullet streaks through the crowd of all-aged students, screeching as she flies to Pollux.  I smile and shake my head at my sister's antics.  That's Jace, though; she's a nine year old fireball that makes me feel tired just by looking at me some times.   

It's on days that I have to go clear across town that I miss public transportation; don't get me wrong, Niagara is certainly no New York City with a network of buses and trains, but it has a decent bus system that had gotten me from Point A to Point B quickly and efficiently.  Eden is tiny, relatively speaking, but that doesn't necessarily make it 'small' per se.  It has a minuscule population compared to the size of even the smallest hole-in-the-wall towns back home, but actually _crossing_ it takes a good twenty minutes, twenty-five now that I am a temporary gimp.   

The Eden Schoolhouse is three floors and sits in the southern most quadrant of the colony over by the only suburban neighborhood in Eden as well as the airport.  To get to Laurel's Landing, the overhang that overlooks Ashford Beach, the rainbow-colored, gem-spotted cliffs, and the ocean, I have to cross the entire town, which means either cutting past the apartments, the Ashford manor house, and behind the townhouses beside the trading post or walking north and going through the whole entire Main Street town square that will be teeming with my classmates.  I opt out of both options, going to my fall back and walking along the edge of the cliff, the sea air whipping my hair around my face while the sound of soft waves teases my ears.   

I've always loved the ocean since I was a little girl, and so have all my siblings; it's probably the one and only thing (other than our love of food) that we inherited from our Greek father.  We used to take an annual family trip down the coast to Florida, and we'd sit in the waves and bury each other under piles and piles of sand.  It's not the same in Eden.  Hanging out on Ashford Beach isn't discouraged, but people always fear what this unfamiliar, alien planet truly has in its waters.  Even my mom doesn't allow Jace to go into water higher than her ankles, and she is _never_ allowed to just sit in it.   

In retrospect, Eden's National Geographic atmosphere couldn't be more perfect for us since everything else about my siblings and I come from our Native American mother, including our looks.  Our father is olive-skinned with hazel eyes and curly wood brown hair that is always cut short, an impressive amount of stubble perpetually covering his face since he wants (but doesn't have the patience) to grow both a mustache and a beard; he usually makes it a week before shaving cleanly because it 'wasn't growing in properly'.  _Right_...  Mom, on the other hand, is medium brown like most Native Americans with dark, straight locks that are ridiculously thick, and deep onyx eyes.  All of us follow in her footsteps, though I am the oddball.  My dark hair is full of kinky Greek-kid curls unlike my brother's manageably wavy locks, and my eyes are a chocolate brown while both my sibling's are dark like our mother's.  In culture we might as well be solely Native American, we have a deep appreciation for nature, possess a voracious appetite for learning and understanding our history, and believe in the idea of a strong community.  Also, we ride horses, can braid the shit out of even African-American hairdressers, and wear feathers, moccasins, and beads all the time like it's normal.  It frustrates our father, thrills our mother, and amuses our grandparents, much to our fathers chagrin.   

When I finally reach Laurel Landing—named after Laurel Ofston who fell out of a tree while trying to get a better view of the ocean and landed here (dead of course) in the early days of the colony—my ankle is sore and silently cursing me for the long ass, break-neck paced 'walk' I'd been doing moments before.  I sit cross-legged on the damp, vivid emerald, moss-covered ground, facing out towards where the ocean is just visible past the break between two trees.  Carefully, I pull my camera case out of my book bag, resting it on the ground almost reverently before opening it and pulling out the various gadgets.   

Most people pay big bucks for cameras the size of their pinky nail that can set itself up, take the picture, and do all the extra tweaking that comes along with getting the perfect photo.  These days, everyone thinks that they're a freaking photographer.   

They're not.  I _am_ though.    

My touch-and-go interest in photography came from one of Earth's notable paper shortages.  I'd been denied access to notebooks, sketchpads, and construction paper, and while my mother had offered the young me a tablet to draw on instead, I hadn't liked the way my sketches turned out when I'd drawn them with my fingertips and had to choose from a virtual color palette.  Instead, I'd taken to just photographing things with tablets, cellphones, and digital cameras so that I could still have some kind of access to art until the paper shortage abated.  However, it hadn't abated; in fact, it had only grown worse and the tree farms, which had been created specifically to help, couldn't grow enough trees to supply all the paper demands.  I'd grown to rely on photography, rarely using the free pages in my sketchpads.  That, of course, had meant finding a camera I'd felt comfortable with.  And just like reading and sketching, I hate all the new-age digital bullshit; I'd eventually decided on my current camera, which is a dinosaur both in size and model age.  In actual manufacturing age, it's pretty new, but it's bulky and large with a million lenses that click on for different zooms, some that are the size of toilet paper rolls others about the size of small juice boxes, and only one dim screen specifically for viewing the pictures in the memory card.  The biggest downside is what a pain it is to find memory cards in an 'unlimited data', 'no assembly required' kind of world, but, like my mother says, I can't have everything.   

When I click the camera together, I smile, feeling a rush of pure adrenaline as I slowly get to my feet, crossing the clearing and leaving my bags behind.  Between the two bowed trees, I crouch with the camera in my hands, gazing out at everything.  From my position, I have a clear view of the airport and military fort—that doubles as both the headquarters and barracks—as well as the Seaview Apartment Complex and the Nicholls mansion that sit along the semi-circular cliff face.  Small waves curl against the gorgeous amber colored sand of Ashford beach, and I can just see where Nicholls cove, Eden's little inlet of the sea, meets Kepsel Ocean.  The most amazing image, though, is of the sheer face of the jagged cliff that is a thousand shades and types of stone from a shade of bone white to dark obsidian.  There are about a million colors in between that range from amethyst to cerulean blue, from ruby to coral.  It's the most gorgeous arrangement of colored stone I've ever seen despite taking a family trip to both Yellowstone and the Grand Canyon; when the light hits it just right, the jewels that live inside the stone as part of the grain sparkle in the most spectacular display I've ever seen.   

Part of me wants to wait for that moment when the sun's just right, but I made a promise to Jace that I'd be there for game night, and I have no intention of breaking it.  Besides, these pictures are going to scientists and news reporters who will talk about the economic imperatives of maintaining Eden Colony on Aurora, not to people who want to appreciate the land for its beauty, which is a shame.  I sigh and shift my weight to the other foot, bringing the camera up to my eye and peering through the viewfinder.   

Quickly, I snap a few frames of just the ocean at different angles, doing the same with the small strip of beach, teasing the image with tiny glimpses of both the ocean and the stone cliff face.  I pause before snapping any pictures of the cliff, lowering the camera and leaning back against the gnarled old tree to just study it for a moment while a leaden weight seems to settle in the pit of my stomach.  This cliff is the singular most beautiful thing I've ever seen in my life, and a very large part of me is screaming not to take this picture, as if taking a picture of the cliff will somehow tarnish it.   

But I made a promise.   

Shaking my head at my own foolishness, I bring the camera back to my face and take a deep breath, ready to press the button and snap the photo when the sound of branches snapping yanks my attention away.  The shutter goes off but the camera flies through the air, slamming against my stomach when it catches on the strap around my neck.  My heart pounds, and my mind immediately flashes back to when the chupacabra had leapt out of the brush to kill me; I shiver and pray it's not that.   

There's no further sounds, but I can feel something in the air, "Hello?"  Still, nothing, and yet, the feeling remains prominent in the air, too prominent to be a lingering sensation, "Who's there?"   

Slowly, I rise to my feet, eyes looking left and right, trying to see through the trees and into the forest.  At first, there's nothing, and I'm about to shake it off as some kind of hallucination when low voices drift through the trees—two or maybe three by the sounds of them—along with the snapping of branches.  Pressing my back against a tree, I peek around it, peering into the dense, shadowy forest.  My eyes land on the small party sitting on horseback and looking around; I bite my lip at the dangerous look in their eye, stifling a squeak and swiftly moving back to my not-very-good, makeshift 'hiding spot', hoping that they hadn't seen me.  Curse Pollux for being right...that boy is such a jinx.   

I hold my breath as they speak in quiet, indistinguishable tongues to each other; the sound of hoof beats begin again, moving away from where I'm hiding, and I peer around my tree, watching as they disappear.  Though I'm not very good with direction, it seems like they're heading towards the Tstori Reservation.  I release a sigh of satisfaction as their shadows disappear in the forest.  Relieved, my head falls back against the bark of the tree, and my eyes close while I fight a smile of pure relief.   

The sound of a quiet laugh startles me; my eyes fly open as I whirl around to see a shockingly familiar native leaning against a tree with his arms crossed over his chest, watching me with amusement.  Twice in two weeks...my father would flip if he knew.  The familiarity I feel looking at him is striking, though I can't place why.  What are the chances he is the same man from the woods outside of the Nicholls' cabin?   

The first thing I notice about him is his towering size and cords of toned muscles beneath golden-brown skin dotted with scars and scrapes.  He has strange patterned spiral and band tattoos that cover his whole, exposed upper body, and they're not only black but also royal purple and sparkling ruby red.  A strange, almost dangerously sharp tribal sun pendant hangs from a thin leather thong wrapped in a delicate chain of gold.  According to my mom's anthropologist friend, Cecilia, the Tstori—from what little we know about them—use piercings as a sign of status, military valor, and, perhaps, religious significance.  Though what the exact reasoning behind each piercing is remains unclear, this guy is no exception to that particular Tstori practice, sporting small gauges, numerous ear piercings, and a spider bites.  His murky, molten gold eyes glint out from behind his shaggy, shoulder-length mane to bore into me with unsettling intensity.  However, it's the knife that he casually flips up into the air before catching again that receives the majority of my attention and identifies him.   

Never as long as I live will I forget the rough bone and beaded hilt with yet another gold pendant hanging off of it.  It's _him_.  Not that the knowledge helps my frayed nerves.  Logically, I know that he won't hurt me, especially if he went through all the trouble to save me before.  That doesn't take away the slight panic I feel standing only a few feet away from a person I've been told time and time again is dangerous and hostile to my Earthling peoples.   

"I-I-I'm sorry.  I was just taking pictures," I manage to get out, crossing my arms over my chest and shifting uncomfortably while the words pour out of me at a mile a minute.   

The man continues to flip his knife, not looking away from me and keeping his expression schooled.  The jackass.  He has to know that he's scaring the shit out of me just by standing there all six foot six, scarred, and brolic; flipping that death-blade certainly isn't helping, "Look, I just...I got my pictures...and I'm just gonna...I'll just...yeah, okay, bye."   

I move as quickly as I can, half-alert to his presence as I toss everything haphazardly into my bag while he just watches me impassively.  With jerky, anxious motions, I throw the book bag over my shoulder and get to my feet, pausing to look at him with wide eyes, practically twitching with nervousness.  "I...um...it's just," he looks at me impassively, and I take a deep breath and run a trembling hand through my hair.  Biting my lip, I glance up at him, shaking my head, "You're the guy that like saved my life by killing a crazy, homicidal, blood-sucking not-so-mythological canine.  And I just..." I trail off, frustrated and blushing like crazy, embarrassed for a reason I can't put my finger on; the guy barely blinks, "You didn't have to, so, thanks."   

And on that awkward, post-rambling note, I start walking back the way I'd come, kicking myself at even attempting that awkward, stomach churning, gut wrenching, muscle tensing thank you.  He is a native on an alien planet that has little to no contact with 'my people'—strange as that sounds—only the leaders have ever had contact with us in a way that included an attempt at communication, and those meetings have been few and far between as well as stunted through primitive sign language and linguists scrambling to understand the Tstori language with as few results as they have had picking up ours.  I may have just put extreme pressure on both my heart and nerves, thoroughly embarrassing myself as I stammered and stuttered my way through a thank you just to have him not even have a fricking clue what I was saying.   

That sucks.   

"You are welcome."   

The low, deep, lightly accented voice drifts towards me, and I'm so taken aback that it takes me a moment to grasp what just happened.  Not only can he understand me...he can speak English too, which I'd been told very very few of them could do.  I freeze and spin around, but, like I'd expected, he's already gone.


	3. Chapter Three

"He said what?"  Pollux demands, shocked.   

I roll my eyes at him, "Relax, will you, and keep it down, okay?  It's not like he pulled some kind of Biblical magic and spoke in tongues.  He said 'you are welcome.'" I shrug like it's no big deal when we both know it would be to both scientists and the military since they usually bring in linguists to try to communicate.  I'm not going to tell them and neither is Pollux if I have anything to say about it.   

"What the fuck, Anastasia?  Why wouldn't you tell me this earlier.  I'm your twin.  We shared a crib.  We share food.  We share disgusting details of our love lives—" I raise an eyebrow at him and he sniggers, "— _my_ sexscapades and make out sessions.  And we _certainly_ share when a native kid who saved your life spoke fu-frigging English to you after your gave him a rambling apology!  When I asked, 'how was your shoot?', that's the kind if thing I really wanted to know!  Why are you waiting to tell me this now?"   

"'Cause I knew you'd freak out, so I wanted to wait till we were in public so you didn't cause a scene," I respond flippantly, giving him an innocent look.   

Pollux exhales tersely, crossing his arms over his chest and studying me searchingly for a moment; it's unsettling, especially since, whenever he does that, he always finds out information that I don't want him to have.  Shaking my head, I link my arm through his, tugging him forward.  If he realized what I'm doing, he doesn't say anything, relenting, though the suspicion's still there, "Right, okay, what are we going to do for the pot luck?"   

"Um...make food we don't have.  Isn't that why we're at the trading post on a Sunday when we could be lounging in our bedrooms or running around town with our friends?"   

My brother gives me a sarcastic look, pulling me into a small kiosk full of boxed up baked goods, and I raise an eyebrow at him.  He shrugs, "Mom wants to bake cupcakes for Jace's class."   

"Gotcha, I'll grab frosting and you'll grab batter?"   

"Vanilla?"  He asks at the same time I ask, "Butter cream?"  We pause before breaking into laughter, nodding our heads at each other and moving off into opposite directions.   

The trading post is more like a superstore where no one 'trades' everyone 'buys', but we're clearly not big on reasonable names.  I mean, Eden?  Aurora?  _Pretentious_.  All the new imports from Earth make their way to the numerous trading post kiosks and cubby-hole stores while the local farmers, bakers, butchers, etcetera both buy and sell their goods.  Manuel Rivera, the tech guy, comes in from Earth every three months with all the newest gadgets for sale that we'd seen or ordered online, but he also buys from our own resident tech genius, JJ, though no one knows what exactly he buys from the man, though it wouldn't surprise anyone if they both have shady side-businesses.  For an alien way station, our town is pretty well-stocked, but every now and then there are things that are necessary to buy straight from the trading post like artificial, complex carb foods.  There's nowhere in town other than the trading post where I can buy Cheeto puffs let alone boxed baked goods; that's what the bakery is for.  More so, the trading post is where weapons exchange hands.  The military order theirs, and they go straight from the cargo plane to headquarters right behind the airport, but the trading post is for those with permits to buy everything from pepper spray to hand guns.   

When my brother and I meet back up at the front, he fishes around in his pockets for money while I roll my eyes and hand my card over to the cashier with an apologetic smile.  She laughs while my brother glares at me playfully.  A light suddenly goes off in the back of his eyes, and I look away quickly, faking a smile and taking my card.  _Oh shit, what has that boy gone and figured out now?_

"You're gonna do something crazy aren't you?"  Pollux demands in a whisper as I slip out of the kiosk.  

I force a laugh and try to keep my expression relaxed, playing stupid, "Um...no, I'm gonna go see if Ajax Kostopoulos came in today so we can by pita and gyro meat.  I figure, we can go cultural for the pot luck.  I don't think that's crazy."   

Pollux glares at me, "You know that's not what I mean."  

I know exactly what he means, but I have no intention of sharing the running thoughts from my head about tracking down the native I've seen twice now.  Pollux would lock me in the house and feed me through the crack under the door, "I do, but I think we can handle making tzatziki sauce.  That fiasco was a one time thing.  I mean why would cottage cheese and sour cream be in the exact same container as yogurt, and I refuse to take responsibility for the rancid olive oil.  Mom cooks so she should have known."   

"Seriously, Ana, do you have a death wish? Are you suicidal?  Please tell me so I can help you.  I like you so much better alive," Pollux says.   

"Oh _thank you_ , dear brother," I respond sarcastically, and he tosses me an annoyed look.  Sighing, I pull him off to the side, wedging us in the small space between the cheese booth and the soda vendor, "It's not like I'm gonna go trekking through the forest to find him, Lux.  I'm not that much of a stalker, relax.  I just would be very happy if God granted me the gift of talking to him again."   

"Why?  You don't even know his name, what's so special about him?"   

"You mean besides the fact that he speaks English...oh and, you know, _saved my life_?  I don't know, Lux; he just interests me," Pollux scowls, and I roll my eyes, hitting him in the chest, "Not like _that_.  He's a native on an alien planet, and no one knows anything about them or their culture.  You heard mom's friend, Cecilia, they are extremely secretive about their practices and stay away from outsiders.  Yet, he talked to me and saved me.  It's interesting.  _He's_ interesting."   

Pollux sighs and shakes his head, pulling us out of the alcove and back into the busy pathway, "Why can't you find someone your species interesting like...Donovan."   

"Donovan _O'Leary_?  Gross, Lux, he's a pothead... _and_ a sex addict!"   

"Sebastian Anders?"   

"Please, he moonlights as a cross-dresser.  I'm not his type."   

"Ooh, I've got it, Jensen Paully!"   

"Not that I'm knockin' the nerds that rule the world, but he thinks he lives on Naboo.  I can't handle the Star Trek delirium.  I'm already living a sci-fi movie, I don't want to LARP one too."   

"Star Wars," Pollux corrects me, and I give him a disbelieving look before rolling my eyes at him.  He holds his hand up in a gesture of innocence...lies, "I'm just saying.  Of all people, you find interest in a guy that probably only wants to cut your heart out and use it in some elaborate sacrifice to the god of the fucking harvest!"   

"I thought you didn't believe in all that human sacrifice rumor and slander–"   

"I don't.  It's obviously propaganda made up by the leaders of the colony to keep us away from them, though I can't imagine why—"   

"—I can find out!"   

"No, Anastasia, I'm telling you this, not because I think that he's going cut out your innards and burn them on some kind of pagan alter, but because I don't want you to get hurt.  He's trouble..."  The words die on his lips as he stares at something in the distance, slowing to a halt.  He frowns, tilting his head to the side, "What the hell?"  The words are mumbled but full of shock and disbelief; it only takes me a minute to realize that the rest of the trading post shoppers are also walking extremely slowly and talking frantically amongst themselves.   

Frowning, I follow the line of Pollux's sight until I find what he's looking at; it's not hidden.  If I'd been paying more attention I would have seen it—seen _them_ —immediately.  At the very back of the trading post, right by the door, is a new kiosk, recently set up and clearly makeshift like it's owner isn't quite sure whether or not they will ever be back again.  The booth consists of a fold out table, most likely provided by the trading post, with all kinds of things laying out on it: necklaces, earrings, bracelets, articles of clothing, and even homemade knives and cookware; pottery sits on the floor in front while rugs and blankets hang from the long pole suspended over the table.  Five soldiers stand strategically around the table, not hovering, but placed far enough away to make it seem natural, even though it's _quite_ unnatural to have five soldiers just hanging around one small area.  But then, it doesn't surprise me nearly as much as the fact that a group of natives are standing in the trading post _selling their stuff_.   

As far as I can tell there are three, two women and a little girl.  The little girl is curled up on a plastic folding chair playing with a homemade doll, a serious frown on her face as she adjusts the doll's garment.  Her hair is in a single braid and touches the seat, and she wears a simple smock dress with fringe hanging down from it; her ears are pierced, not gauged, and her caramel skin is unmarked, unlike the other two women.  One woman looks nearly eighty and more than ready to kick the bucket while the other is younger, maybe in her late twenties, and looks a lot like the child who I assume is her daughter.  Both women have nose rings, piercings up their ears linked together with delicate chains, and a single lip piercing right in the center of their bottom lip.  Both of their dresses are gauzy and bright with a network of beautiful beading that creates fringe along the hemline.  Both have their thick hair twisted up and held in place with combs—the younger woman with a gorgeous bead hair piece hanging from the updo—and have swirls of beautiful ink dancing up their arms.   

Suddenly, the door jerks open, and a man strides into the room confidently, ignoring the way the soldier's gaze lock on him threateningly.  The old woman looks over her shoulder and her face breaks into a wide smile.  She snaps something at the man in their language, and he freezes, tilting his head to the side before shaking his head and responding sharply.  She barks out a laugh and says something else to which he responds with an eye roll and a terse comment I can't understand while the young woman and her daughter start giggling.  And just like that, he turns and starts to head out of the room, though by this time, my mouth has already fallen open in shock...what are the chances?   

Pollux looks between his retreating figure and me, "Oh no."   

I give him a look, "I just want to talk to him."   

"So?  You're gonna get him and yourself into trouble!"   

"Relax, will you?  I have a plan," I tell him confidently, though it's not strictly true.  I have a vague idea of what I might do, which is my version of a plan though certainly not Pollux's.   

He responds with a disbelieving look, "Please, Anastasia, spare me; your version of a plan consists of hiding in tall grass or tying weeds to your head.  That's not a plan.  It's a disaster."   

"And this is fate.  God's smiling down on me today!"   

"How very serendipitous," Pollux comments dryly.   

"Kismet!"  I reply with a cheeky grin while Pollux shakes his head.   

"Did you just steal a word from Covert Affairs?"   

"Technically, I stole it from the Israelis since that's where that show stole it from.  Now Pollux..."   

"Fine, Anastasia.  Twenty minutes.  I'll grab the stuff from Ajax, but if you're not back in twenty minutes I will personally drag you home by your hair and keep you locked in your room until graduation."   

"Deal," I say excitedly, kissing his cheek, "Wish me luck."   

I take off before he can say anything, pulling up the hood of my sweatshirt as I brush past all the soldiers and out the back door the same way that I saw the native man exit earlier.  Part of me feels like a total stalker for following someone out of a building just to talk to them when I know that I'll probably end up rambling on about the weather.  Still, I've always loved new cultures, especially native cultures be it the Hindus in India who seem determined to hold on to their traditions, or the Native Americans in the US and Canada or the Aboriginals of Australia who managed to persevere despite the way that Britain had tried to breed them into extinction, odd as that sounds.  There is just something so magical about cultures like that, real cultures, not 'culture' that embraces rap as a good outlet for self expression (when most just talk about sex, drugs, and money) and think that worshipping technology is enough to make people happy.  And the temptation to get to find even a little information about the Tstori is too enticing to pass up...so sue me.   

The door slams shut behind me, and I hesitate, looking around the woods before walking deeper in, silently berating myself for letting my conversation with my brother hold me up this long.  He could be anywhere, and I still have another half a week before the doctor will take the sprint off my ankle.  Sighing, I looking all around, my heart pounding wildly while my head screams at me to remember the last time I recklessly went wandering through the woods.  I shiver and frown in disappointment, whirling around to head back.   

"Holy shit!"  I screech in surprise, pressing a hand to my mouth while my heart pounds anxiously inside my chest, eyes on the native standing in front of me with his eyebrows raised, "Are you going to do that every time?"   

The man's face remains inscrutable, and he walks past me and into the forest.   

"Wait!"  He keeps going, and I fight back a small groan of frustration as I whirl around and follow him, "Seriously?  Stop!"  He doesn't.  "I'm a gimp, and you're going to make me break my ankle again," I say in a sing-song voice, though he doesn't slow down in the slightest.  My ankle is protesting the break neck pace we're moving at so I stop and glare at his retreating figure, "We both know you can speak English so I don't know who you think you're kidding."   

And just like that, he comes to a stop, turning around to look at me, "Why are you following me?"   

"Why are you running?"  I respond while the man's lips turn up in a half-smile, "Better question, why is your English so good?"   

He raises his eyebrows at me, "Why is yours?"   

I sigh in exasperation and cross my arms over my chest, "Are you going to answer all my questions with equally stupid questions?"   

His eyes light with humor, and he presses his lips together and nods his head, "I find it entertaining."   

"I find you annoying."   

"Who told you to follow me?  Now, if that is all, I do have somewhere I need to be."   

Raising my eyebrows, I scoff at him, and he pauses, looking back over his shoulder at me, "Look, I just...I don't know."   

"You say that a lot."   

I shrug, looking down at the ground, "Yeah, I do that sometimes."   

"Do what?"   

"Ramble...when I don't know what to say."   

"Have you ever thought about thinking before you speak?"   

"Have you thought about not being so hostile when all I wanted to do was ask you a fucking question?"  I demand angrily, shaking my head and turning to walk back to the trading post, completely and utterly frustrated by the direction of this epic fail of a conversation.  All I wanted was...well, I really have no idea what I wanted from this conversation, but certainly not to leave with the feeling of complete and utter frustration coupled with the desire to slit the man's throat.  I don't know what I'd been expecting of the natives, but certainly not for him to be like everybody else: arrogant and obnoxious.  Still, I didn't get the vibe of savage pagans who worship pigs and offer human hearts as sacrifice just the feeling of irritating little boy.   

"You never asked your question," he informs me offhandedly.   

I stop walking and glance over my shoulder at him, "Is your tongue pierced?"   

" _That_ is your question?"  Frowning, I shrug at him while he watches me impassively for a moment before sticking out his tongue slightly to reveal a delicate ivory and ruby stud, "Is that all?"   

"That isn't what I wanted to ask you."   

"I figured," he smirks at me, crossing his hands over his chest.   

For a moment, we stand like that with me half-turned to go, looking back at him while he watches me with an unreadable expression.  I don't know what to say, but, regardless, he just waits for...something, though I don't suppose we'll get anywhere considering that I am absolutely flabbergasted about what I want to say.  Even if I did know, I'm far too shy to ask him, anyway.  I take a deep breath and shake my head, looking up through the trees and into the bright sunlight filtering through, rolling my eyes at myself, "I'm sorry.  I shouldn't have come.  There's nothing to ask."  I shake my head, frustrated with myself.   

For a moment, he remains silent before he shakes his head at me, "We both know that is not true."  I frown at him, not quite sure what he's getting at with the pointed comment, "Your people, your godforsaken scientists, seem to have a never ending supply, practically—how do you people say it—'beat down our day'?"   

"Door," I correct him with a slight smile at the one mess up he'd made in the entirety of our conversation.   

"Door, then," he rolls his eyes, dismissing the mistake, "to get answers about everything under the sky.  And yet, you say there are no questions for me."   

I laugh bitterly and nod my head, remembering how my mother and her friends would go on and on about their species, all the _questions_ they had, all the _discoveries_ that could be made if the natives would just be straight with them.  Chemist Myra Johnston's words come back to me, and I fight the urge to flush just for having been there when they were said.  She'd laughed when Cecilia, Mom's anthropologist buddy, had commented about what they could learn if 'those damn savages could just be straight with us', and Myra had shook her head before saying, "My dear, I'm sure it's difficult to be 'straight' when they're too... _simpleminded_ to comprehend what you're trying ask them.  I mean, how can hovel-living savages be expected to know things like DNA, evolutionary characteristics, or even basic questions about...well, anything quite frankly."  That is the common belief about the Tstori within Eden, as though we'd learned nothing about the development and lifestyle of Native American culture on Earth; it appears, though, that since the Tstori aren't über-advanced like some kind of Star Trek-y Vulcan civilization that they aren't civilized.  Even if they are savages, we'd hardly know since we know nothing about them.   

Giving him an annoyed look, I bristle, "Well, I don't want to know about your biochemistry or how many neurons your brain can fire in a second or if you're subhuman and uncivilized because of some freak mutation on your DNA, I just don't care."   

He nods, "Is that all you think they want to know?  Are those the only questions you think you can ask.  I have one that is completely unrelated.  Do you think we are uncivilized?"   

Biting my lip, I avoid the question, "That's what the scientists say."   

"What do _you_ say?"   

"I-I don't know.  You certainly don't look or act like you're from sub-Saharan Africa or some other underdeveloped third world nation, but you could be.  I don't know, do I?"  I challenge him, crossing my arms over my chest and raising my eyebrows at him.   

"You don't," he agrees, "and yet, no questions."   

"Why are you pushing this?  It's not like you'd answer me...at least not truthfully anyway."   

"I would never put my tribe in danger, but I would not lie; I try not to do that."   

"Can I go now?"  I snap at him incredulous as to why we are still doing this when all I want to do is split.  I'm beyond frustrated at him for pushing me when he should just let it go, but more so at myself for being completely unable to grasp this one opportunity and get answers to questions no else can give me.   

His expression doesn't shift from the inscrutable mask he's been wearing through most of the conversation as he stands up straight, dropping his hands to his side to look at me, "Answer one thing first."  I don't respond, but I turn around to fully face him, locking my hands behind my back and rocking back on the heels of my paint splattered Converse high tops, waiting with _bated breath_.  He cocks his head to the side and studies me, "If you did not have any questions to ask me, why follow me?  I scare the shit out of you, I can see it in your eyes," I drop my gaze to the ground like that's going to help.  "So why?  Why scrounge up the courage if you have nothing to say?"   

Blinking at him for a moment, I consider lying to him, telling him that I came here to apologize or to see a savage up close, anything to just make him go away, but, instead, I tell him the same thing I told my brother, "You just...you and your people just interest me."  He frowns in confusion just like Pollux had, and I shrug, blushing and looking down at the rubber toe of my sneakers covered in Sharpie drawings and cartoons, "I didn't want to-it's just—"  I sigh and run my fingers through my hair and look up at him to find him gazing back at me softly; I relax a little on the inside, "My mom's family is native to America, my country, my home.  I never met them, and I know nothing about their culture.  It was basically destroyed hundreds of years before I was even born.  I love culture and history, and yours is the only one here that I don't know or understand.  I don't know if you're a savage or subhuman or whatever, but I want to know.  I want to know everything about everything, and I get the feeling your culture is the place to start."   

For a moment, he just stares at me before he looks down at the ground, nodding, "So I have heard."   

"What?"  I ask him, frowning in confusion.   

"Nothing," he responds quickly before his gaze meets mine again, becoming serious but not intimidating.  "You are not the only people who feel that way.  But, _your_ people cannot be trusted."   

"And yours can?"  I shoot back, "What do we know about you?"   

"What do _we_ know about _you_?  You came here, to our world with your killing machines and overwhelming, mind-numbing technology expecting us to welcome you with open arms and learn to do things your way.  Why did you come?"   

"I-I don't know; it's not like they tell me anything.  I'm a kid, not a scientist or a soldier."   

"And why would they bring children to a hostile, unknown land worlds away from your own?"   

"I don't know!"  I reply back, growing more and more disheartened every minute we stand here talking about things I've wanted to know about for so long.  Throwing questions at me that have plagued me since our parents had announced the move to us with no explanations of why or what they planned to do.  I guess we'd expected things to change when we moved here, but they didn't and they won't.  The musings have always weighed heavily in the back of my mind, but they are easy to ignore.  And here is this asshole who can't leave well enough alone and yank them all to the forefront of my thoughts.  "Satisfied?"  I hiss at him angrily.   

He nods coolly, "Calm down.  Ignorance is not a crime.  In fact, I am sure it is celebrated where you come from."   

"Are you calling me ignorant?"  I raise an eyebrow, more amused at the accusation than offended.   

"Yes...and no," he says to me while I frown at him.  I open my mouth to ask him to explain that when my phone screeches out my brother's ringtone.  Rolling my eyes, I pull the ultra thin, touchscreen cell from my pocket to see Pollux's face sticking his tongue out at me on the LCD screen, like I didn't know.  I ignore his call and look back up at the man who just seems amused.   

I swallow, "I've...um...I'm gonna go."   

"Go then," he says with a smile, nodding his head, "I suppose I will see you again soon."   

"I'm not stalking you!" I snap at him in a sing-song voice with a forced smile.   

He laughs, "Did I say you were?"   

"It was implied!"   

"It was," he affirms, opening his mouth to say something just as my phone goes off again.  He raises his eyebrows at me while I press ignore, slipping it back into my pocket with an embarrassed smile, my cheeks heating.   

"My brother's overprotective."   

"As he should be," he comments, "you almost died."   

I laugh slightly and humorlessly, nodding, "You would know."   

"I would," he replies.  I shake my head at him and turn to go back before stopping to look back at him.   

"I'm Anastasia...Ana."   

He grins and nods, "Don't trip on your way back Anastasia."   

I glare at him before turning and walking back.  Arrogant asshole...who won't even give me his fucking name.  Well, color me intrigued.

%MCEPASTEBIN%

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The colloquialism, "beat down our door", Ninuk knew it already if you didn't catch how obviously caught up to our culture he is; he's also really smart and really manipulative so he played up his naivety to put Anastasia more at ease with the situation. Anyway: chapter three...and I just spent the last three hours marathon-ing Avatar: the Last Airbender :)


	4. Chapter Four

A warm gyro, Cheeto puffs, and canned root beer are the only things standing between me and Pollux's imminent death.  I love my brother, obviously he's not just blood, he's my _twin_ , and I'd told him to take his time and get over his heartbreak slowly.  That being said, if he doesn't stop brooding, I'm going to put a chopstick through his dark brown, sad puppy dog eye.  Yep, I'm just _that good_ at playing the loving, doting best friend and sister...on second thought, I'm much better at playing the tough love bitch queen than the nurturing governess.   

"You're staring again," I inform him, picking a dumpling off his plate and dipping it into Jiang Li Ye's freshly made soy sauce with a cheeky smile.  He glances over at me with a glum expression, and I sigh and roll my eyes, "Seriously, Pollux, you know I love, but we're at school not doing classwork with free food from nearly every culture on Earth, free sodas that are expensive as hell to buy up here, and dessert and chips out the wazoo.  Stop mooning over that conceited jackass and try a fucking dumpling.  They don't taste nearly as good when they're cold."   

Pollux looks over at me and fakes a smile, "I guess, Anastasia."   

"Don't _guess_ , do.  Be the change you want in the world," I tell him, giggling.   

"Did you just quote Michael Jackson?"   

"Sure, but I actually mean it whilst he died of drugs, so...maybe he was being the change he wanted in the world.  Kind of morbid, though.  Very _Prometheus_ of him," I say musingly.   

Pollux snorts, "That movie wasn't even out when he died."   

I give Pollux a sarcastic look while he offers me a genuine cheeky smile.  Nicci plops down in between us, "Hello lovebirds!  Are you enjoying the party?"   

"Lovebirds?"  Pollux asks, looking disgusted.   

"I couldn't think of anything else to say," Nicci shrugs.   

"And here I thought you were smart," I say to her with a sweet smile while she laughs and smacks me.  Hard.   

"Shut up.  What movie are we talking about?"   

" _Prometheus_ ," Pollux replies while I sigh, shooting him a look, already knowing where this is heading.   

"Really?  Damn, way to go all retro.  That's just sad."   

"No, what's sad is that after eighty years Justin Bieber is still popular," I shake my head and roll my eyes.   

" _Prometheus_ isn't 'retro'.  _Footloose_ is retro.  _Dirty Dancing_ is retro.  _Lost Boys_ is retro—"   

"Maybe fifty years ago."   

"—and you watch all of those plus _Dracula_ , the _Walking Dead_ , and _True Blood_.  You want to talk about retro?"   

Nicci gives Pollux a malevolent glare, "Don't you have a slut you should be trying to get with?"   

"Nope," I state with a smile, "he's obsessing over the crush who rejected him."   

"Ouch," Nicci shakes her head while Pollux gifts us with an evil look, "I've never been rejected."   

"You've never been kissed," Pollux replies with a smirk.   

Nicci shrugs, "I have standards.  Besides, I'm waiting until college when someone can appreciate me for my mind."  Pollux and I glance at each other with raised eyebrows before looking back at her; she sighs and shakes her head, "Okay, or for someone who hasn't dated everyone in our tiny little colony.  I mean, it's slim pickings here with no new fresh blood.  Everyone has literally dated everyone."   

"I haven't!" I declare cheerfully, swallowing some coke while raising my hand.   

"Seriously?"  Pollux asks me, rolling his eyes while I give him a 'what' look and shrug.   

Scoffing, Nicci rolls her eyes, "That has nothing to do with any kind of principle about pre-college dating.  That is because you have higher standards than I do...oh, and attachment issues.  And you're confrontational.  And you intimidate guys.  And—"   

"Okay, thank you," I cut her off, giving her a frustrated smile, "You want to shred anymore of my ego?"   

"I'm good," Nicci says with a slight smile while I glare at her.  "What?  You can't say I'm wrong, Anastasia.  I mean, I love you, but you're bristly and confrontational and just radiate this aura like you could kill someone and totally get away with it.  Plus, Micah Santori has been in love with you for like ever, and you blew off giving him your phone number quite blatantly after your shy, embarrassed, put-on-the-spot girl routine.  Did you expect potential suitors to be climbing out of the wood works to go out with you?"   

"Most guys can't handle that much rejection for no reason at all except the fact that the girl's a total bitch," Pollux adds with yet another cheeky smile, kissing my temple.  "Not, of course, that I don't love you that way."   

I give him a teasing glare before my eyes drift across the crowded room towards where Micah Santori stands with a group of his party-crasher, fellow twelfth grade friends.  We've talked all of two times yet he continually gives me hugs—big, tight, BFF hugs—despite our minimal conversation and absence of a friendship.  It took me three months to figure out his name was even Micah.  Our conversations have been sporadic and on-the-go, filled with a lot of awkward silences and tension charged pauses where I make sarcastic jokes he doesn't understand.  _Ah...young not-quite-love_.  I like him well enough as a person (who I'm not friends with), and he's not hard on the eyes or anything.  I just don't think I'll ever be able to see him like that since he bores the crap out of me and makes me more awkward than I naturally am.   

Instead, I go for the politically correct answer and tear my eyes away from him before he can catch my gaze and decide to come join, "He's not my type."   

"You have a type?"  Xochitl asks as she hops onto the desk joining in on our conversation, wagging her eyebrows.  The girl is always trying to get me to go out with Micah despite the fact that she knows I don't particularly find him attractive in looks or personality.  Both are just...forgettable and, for lack of a better word, awkward.   

"Do share, sister dear," Pollux says, and I flip him off.   

"No, I don't have a type.  I have people I don't date, and people I think I'll date but, realistically, won't."  My friends frown at me, and I roll my eyes at them, "I need someone who gets me."   

"Someone who gets you?"  Nicci repeats.   

"Yeah," I reply seriously, "someone who can force me to talk despite how painfully shy I am upon first meeting, who's not already dating someone, and who is...interesting.  And who understands that art is my first love, and oftentimes I'll put that before them.  Oh...and that I'm a total bitch."   

"Jesus, do you want him to have a changing color dick and the ability to catch grenades too?"  Pollux asks, and I kick him in the leg.   

"Don't be an asshole," Nicci says before I can begin saying anything.  "Your sister just wants Prince Charming, Superman, and Ghandi all rolled into one."   

I scoff, "Ghandi?  Really?  I can't take all that make love not war shit."   

"That was hippies," Xochitl comments with an eyebrow raised, looking around at all of us, "Right?"   

"Yeah," Pollux nods, "I thought everyone knew that."   

"I will cut you," I threaten him.   

"I dare you," he responds with a smile.   

"Lux!"  I hear a feminine cry of joy pierce the air, and I groan, rolling my eyes wondering what bimbo is making a fool themselves by screeching for my brother like he actually gives a shit about them.  "Annie!"     

My irritation shifts to shock instantly.  Only one person calls me that and only in times of distress; I whirl around to see my little sister, Jacinta (aka Jace) pushing through the crowd of juniors at the door and running towards us.  I frown, wondering why in the hell my sister is charging into the junior classroom when she should be hanging out with the other fourth graders.  Pollux reacts quicker than I do, hopping up out of his chair and catching her in his arms.   

"Jacie-bear!  What are you doing here?"  He asks throwing her playfully over his shoulder.  Jace cringes at the nickname and doesn't laugh the way she usually does when Pollux lifts her.  Pollux shoots me a questioning look.  I shrug but give my friends a small wave, getting up and walking towards where Pollux deposits her on top of an empty desk, putting his hands on either side of her legs.  She bites her lip and smiles up at us wanly, twisting her braid with her finger, "Seriously Jace, what's the problem?"   

"Does Ms. Turner know you're gone?"  I ask while she purses her lips together, frowning down at her shoes and shaking her head.   

Pollux and I share a look.  "I've got it," he says, taking off while I look back at Jace.   

"Jacie," I admonish her in a serious tone.   

She heaves a sigh while I roll my eyes at her dramatics, "They—the kids in my class—were talking about those native people again.  The ones that Dad says we're never to go near if we see one."   

"I know who they are, Jace," I tell her gently.    

"Ms. Turner said they're savages.  That they're stupid and aggressive and hurt people for no reason.  A-a-and Petra Mathewson said that they are just like the Indians that Christopher Columbus found, and Ms. Turner says she's right!  We're not savages, Annie, are we?  We're not stupid!  We're smart, mom says so," Jace pleads to me, sounding much younger in her desperation for me to comfort her, but I'm so in shock that I just shake my head, unable to truly express myself with words, and wrap my arms around her, letting her cry in my chest while I run my fingers through her hair.  I'm completely conscious of all the stares, but I'm more focused on my sister and her emotional distress.  I should have foreseen something like this happening, and so, for that matter, should our parents.   

A hand grips my shoulder, and I look up into Pollux's hardened face.  Obviously, something went down with the teacher, "Are you ready to go?"  He lifts Jace into his arms as though the gangly nine year old weighs nothing, and she wraps her arms around him like a baby, crying into his shoulder.  I can practically feel the Pollux fan club swooning at his protective, loving, and comforting big brother side.  My gaze slides to Nick to see him looking at the scene softly before catching my eyes; his face hardens as he turns back to Julianne.   

I roll my eyes and drop three root beers, five vanilla cokes, and a cream soda into my bag, swiping a bag of Cheeto puffs as I turn back to them.  I force a smile, "Yeah let's go."

* * *

Home (that is not my home) is one of the only stand alone structures in the colony with the exception of the Ashford and Nicholls mansions and the governor's house.  The rest are all town homes, apartment complexes, barracks, and a single neighborhood of small, generic dwellings with very little lawn space.  Our residence, however, sits only a few blocks from the schoolhouse, just on the edge of the plains that are gradually turning to farmland—almost a dozen farms sitting on the land already, the largest one belonging to the Ashfords.     

I've always wished we could live in an Indian style home right next to the tropical bayou-like forest where the Tstori live or overlooking the ocean, but the view has grown on me.  Gorgeous, lush fields stretch for miles and miles behind the house, a small halo of pale brown trees with faded green leaves.  They look like oak trees, but I don't know for sure.   

The house itself is my mother's vision, her dream home.  It's a plantation style home painted a cream color with maroon shutters and a huge porch that wraps around the whole house.  Inside, the home is pristine, mahogany doors opening up into a bare foyer (dad is a minimalist) with a sitting room to impress people just off one side while an impressive dining room with a crystal chandelier (a gift from grandma and grandpa for the move) and a huge mahogany table; the foyer also opens to a tiny hall that leads to both the first floor master suite and the living room as well as the sweeping staircase.     

The living room sits just off the dining room and is comfortable—unlike the stuffy, too-beautiful sitting room—with comfy leather couches, Dad's flat screen (though we can't watch cable here), a huge coffee table covered in a combination of work papers, magazines, and empty coffee cups, and shelves of nick-knacks, family photos, and textbooks.  The room sits right in front of our huge, high-tech open kitchen (which is weird since neither of our parents really come home to cook much), the utility room, and a massive pantry that is poorly stocked.  The bathroom is right behind the pantry down a tiny hall that leads to the two-car garage that is often empty save for my father's rarely used tools.   

The best part of the move, by far, is that my siblings and I got the upstairs completely to ourselves. There are three rooms, each with their own en suite bathrooms and walk-in closets.  All of us have window seats (best thing ever), and I get the room with the best view, looking out over the fields behind the house.  My room is my haven with maroon, patterned wallpaper, sheer black curtains, and walls lined with books; the ceiling is covered in paper, silk, and sky lanterns, as well as rustic wooden floors.  My queen-sized bed is shoved between two walls and piled high with stuffed animals and pillows with my tablet sitting on top of the heap, ready to go whenever I am.  The window seat used to hold all the stuffed animals until my temperamental cat, Demetri, dumped all of them onto the floor quite unceremoniously.  Now, I just let him have rights to the space.   

I toss my book bag onto the floor of my room while Jace and Pollux do the same before pulling out all my lifted snackage, dropping the loot onto my dresser.  I quickly change out of my jeans and thermal top into a pair of fleece pajama shorts and a baggy Pittsburgh Penguins tee that used to belong to my brother.  Not ten minutes later, all the pillows are dumped on the floor while Pollux and I cuddle with Jace between us watching _Finding Nemo_ for the upteenth time.  I mean, it's been nearly eighty years since the movie came out, you'd think she'd be over that by now and watch a movie that came out this century, but no.  That's okay, though, because it's one of those movie that never goes out of style, and it makes me laugh and cry at once.  Plus, it serves it's purpose in making Jace stop crying.

* * *

Groaning, I shift up my arm to cover my eyes from the sunlight trickling in from the windows, ripping my pillow out from under my head to cover my face when my arm proves not to be enough.  The sounds of country music blasts from downstairs, accompanied by the smell of turkey that makes my nose twitch as a smile crosses my face.  Sighing, I clamber out of bed, pulling on a pair of baggy black sweatpants and a wifebeater that's just loose enough to cover my rounded, beer-belly tummy (never mind that I've never actually _had_ beer).  I frown in the mirror wishing I could shrink my D cups to Bs and my size thirteen pants down to like a five, maybe, but I can't complain.  I twist my hair up into a ponytail and jog down the stairs, sweeping Demetri into my arms as I go.   

Everyone is already downstairs, even, surprisingly, my father who used to work holidays all the time back on Earth, but I guess since he's general here he can take a day off to spend with his family—not that either Pollux or I want him here.  My father, Galen, once looked like a Greek god back in his heyday, all bronzed, toned, and gorgeous with golden brown curls, dimples (that my brother inherited), and emerald green eyes with amber flecks in them.  Now, he looks much the same, just aged with strands of silvery-gray hair; his radiant, jovial, boyish smile has dimmed into something hard and predatory just like his eyes.   

Jace curls up against him in a tutu, Dora the Explorer tank top she's had since practically infancy, and a pair of striped footless tights, and plays with a pair of American girl dolls dressed like flappers.  Dad sits beside her but barely even notices his youngest daughter, too busy he flipping through a file on his tablet and glaring down through the lenses of his small frame glasses.  Pollux, meanwhile, alternates between glaring at his tablet and at the television screen, pressing buttons on each with annoyed, frantic motions.  Mom is nowhere in sight, which means she's probably hard at work cooking the family meal.  Demetri hops out of my arms and onto the back of the couch to sit beside Lily, Jace's tiger-striped cat named after the Indian from Peter Pan.   

I cross my arms over my chest and raise my eyebrows at Pollux, "What did the electronics ever do to you, Lux?"   

He sighs, "They fu-reaking exist to not do what they're told."   

"Well, you've clearly no future in hacking," I tell him with a smile while he pierces me with a glare that is supposed to be threatening but just isn't.  I snicker as he turns back to his assignment, "What are you trying to do anyway?"   

"Stream football," Pollux says, biting his lip.   

I grimace and shrug, "Maybe this is the universe's way of telling you that you shouldn't put on football.  It's fate!"   

"It's a glitch in technology," Pollux rolls his eyes at me.   

"Whatever, why don't you put on a movie, a _good_ movie that we all want watch?"   

"Like Nemo!" Jace pipes up from the couch.   

"Uh...no," Pollux and I say in tandem; I look over to Pollux again, "I don't want to watch this."   

"It isn't all about you," he replies with a smile, "give me one good reason why I shouldn't put it on."   

"I'm your twin and you love me and you want to make me smile on turkey day?"   

"Try again."   

"You're clearly never gonna get this to work?"   

"I'm determined.  Third time's the charm, sister dear."   

"None of us want to see you drool over men in skin-tight pants," our father cuts in before I can even say anything.  My eyes widened in shock and disbelief, and I whirl around to look at him and find that he hasn't even look up from his files to verbally shred his only son.  Pollux just shakes his head, radiating anger and mouthing, 'wow', as completely in shock at the words that just came out of our father's mouth as I am.  And this is why dad should just stay away.   

Jace frowns, "What do you mean?"   

Pollux shakes his head, "Nice, Dad, anything else you want to tell your _nine year old_ daughter?"   

"I'm not a baby!"  Jace shouts, and I hold up a hand, telling her to cool it.  She shuts up.   

Dad finally looks up at Pollux; the disappointment, shame, and disgust still lurking in the back of his eyes when he looks at him as prominent as it had been four years ago when he'd come out, so to speak.  He stands up, trying to be bigger than Pollux, though it doesn't work.  They're as evenly matched a two men could be.  Both just over six feet, both brolic, and both looking more than ready to lay down the law... _ah, the holidays with the Mikos family_.  I want—and should shuffle—Jace out the back in some kind of military-style security operation, but I don't because I have to see what happens next.  If Pollux manages to knock my father's ego down a peg then kudos to him (I want Jace to see she can be herself) and if my father wins boo for him (I want her to know he's an asshole).   

"You have no right to lecture me on how to raise my daughter.  She's my responsibility not yours, and she has no business being raised by an unnatural, disgusting thing like you.  You're not my son, Pollux, and you don't get a say in how I raise Jacinta," Dad snaps, and I glare at him while Jace hops of the couch and runs to me, wrapping her arms around my waist and trembling.   

Pollux laughs bitterly, "You're the one who has no right to lecture anyone on how to raise a kid.  I mean, what do you even know about her?  As often as you're here, I'm the one teaching her right from wrong, how to behave, how to problem solve.  Don't worry, Daddy dearest, I lead by example and won't name call _.  I'm_ a _good_ role model."   

"You?  A good role model?  You're a fa—"   

"What is going on here?"  Mom demands in a shrilly voice while my brother looks shell-shocked at the word that was about to come out of my father's mouth.  I wonder how long he's been holding _that_ in, because words like that don't just slip out when you're in an argument with somebody for a full five seconds, not even if they hit you where it hurts.   

"Nothing," Dad says gruffly, slamming his shoulder into Pollux's as he walks past him and into the dining room.   

Mom presses a hand to her stomach before forcing a smile, "Why don't you run to the dining room, Jacie?  The food will be ready in a minute."   

"No," Jace cries, "I don't want to sit alone with him!"   

I laugh bitterly.  "Good morning and happy Thanksgiving," I say sarcastically.   

"It's three o'clock, Anastasia.  You slept the whole day away," Pollux comments, and I bite my lip and look over at him, glad that he's bounced back from our father's ignorant homophobic judgments.  He's still hurt, though, by what Dad almost said; I admire Pollux for his quick recoveries because I'd want to bash Dad's head in.   

I elbow him with a slight smile, "Shut up, you turd.  Not all of us wake at the crack of dawn."   

Pollux rolls his eyes, "Oh yeah, the roosters were a-crowin'.  Isn't that right, Jacie?"  He asks with a playful half-smile, and she smiles back at him shyly and shakes her head.   

"It wasn't a rooster.  It was the cat...sitting on your face wanting breakfast."   

Laughing, I look over at Pollux who's lips are pursed, "You mad bro?"   

"Fuck up," he whispers to me so Mom doesn't hear us, and we look over to see her smiling through watery eyes.  She wipes them  away with the back of her hand and waves it off like she wasn't just close to a tearful meltdown.  Pollux and I share a look, refusing to acknowledge gesture, and he winks at Jace, "Don't be a brat.  Go cozy up next to your 'poppa' for Christmas."   

Jace glares at him, "Don't make fun of my early childhood nicknames."   

"Go," the two of us order at the same time before looking to Mom.  "What do you need help with?"   

Together, Mom and I carry mashed potatoes, gravy, cranberries, stuffing, green beans, and corn into the dining room, setting them on the table while Pollux brings in the turkey, dropping it center stage.  The cats trickle into the room, hopping up onto their tree in the corner and watching us with rapt curiosity.  We all sit down, Mom and Dad opposite each other, Pollux and I beside each other, and Jace parallel to us looking much more dapper.  We fold our hands together dutifully, Pollux and I interlocking ours in an intricate knot of prayer hands and leaning our heads together while our parents murmur grace.  "Amen," we all finish before digging in, the whole table awkward and silent, crackling with tension.   

Dad, true to form, breaks it about forty uncomfortable minutes into a dinner that Jace, Pollux, and I had spent entertaining ourselves by playing cricket with each other's feet and tossing turkey under the table to the cats who'd realized not long after we sat that they'd get better table scraps begging at our feet.  "Enough!  If someone has something to say then say it!"   

Jace blanches while Pollux rolls his eyes.  I drop my utensils onto the table and slouch down into my chair, crossing my arms over my chest.  Mom shoots him a look, "Galen.  Not now."   

"Why not now, Hanna?  Clearly it's an issue that we never talk about.  We're all here.  Let's talk."   

"Cuz you're never here," Pollux murmurs loudly, and I kick him under the table.   

"What did you say?"  Dad demands, skewering my brother with a look.   

Pollux smirks and sits up straighter, "I said, you're never here that's why we never talk.  Oh, and because you think I'm an unnatural, disgusting, piss poor excuse for a man that is shamed in the eyes of God.  That might also be a reason."   

"Pollux Mikos!  Language," Mom snaps, futilely trying to maintain some kind of decorum.   

"Some of us have to work to support our no-good, lazy ass children."   

"Lazy ass?  I'm sorry, when do you want me to work?  I've got school and then I basically nanny for your daughter so I'm confused about what you expect me to do."   

My eyes widen.  _Oh shit, he went there._  

"You're an ungrateful little—"   

"—abomination!  I know, I've heard it before.  You're the top of the food chain in the military for the colony.  If you can get off for Thanksgiving, you can sure as hell take time off to spend with your daughter."   

"I don't want to come home and see you," Dad hisses.   

I press a hand to my mouth shocked.  _Well, shit just got real._    

"Galen!  That's enough!"   

Pollux echoes my thoughts and sneers at Dad, "At least now we're being honest.  You don't want to see me, huh?  Your son.  Is it because I'm half Native American and you're very clearly a racist or is it because you think I'm...what were you gonna say?  Oh right...a fa-"   

"I am NOT racist!"  Dad screams, and Jace shakes her head, jumping up from the table and running out of the room.   

"Really?  Because your daughter is being harassed in school for being Native American because of the tales you and your croonies spin while you're _working_ about these natives being savages!  What did you think was gonna happen?  And what are you going to do about it?  Nothing!  Because you believe it."   

"These _animals_ are not human!  I won't lull people into a false sense of security because your sister's feelings got hurt!"   

"They were implying she was subhuman!"   

"No they weren't!"   

"God, do you choose to be this oblivious or are you really just _that_ fucking moronic?"   

Dad's face turns red.  His jaw his clenches, muscles in his neck standing out starkly, chest heaving with angry.  Mom tries to intervene, but she's such a sweet, soft-spoken woman when she's overwhelmed that I know whatever she says will have no effect whatsoever, "Please, stop.  You're scaring Jace.  I know this move has been a lot of pressure, but let's not allow it to get to our heads."   

"Alright," I stand, backing her up, "this is ridiculous.  _You_ don't get to be mad, Daddy dearest.  You're jumping to conclusion and making judgments without knowing any of the facts.  They _were_ talking about Jace in class because Petra and her little goon squad hate Jace, and the teacher basically just gave them a concrete reason to do so, which you'd know if you were here.  And it's disgusting that you're going to stand there and blame Pollux's lifestyle choices on the reason for your absence in the lives of your children because he's never flaunted it.  He practically raises your daughter.  He's an amazing role model, my best friend, and more of a father to Jace then you've ever been.  And let's kindly put away the gay card, okay, it's a gene, it's thing, we proved that forty years ago.  Your homophobia is so behind the times," I say before he can cut me off the way he's been dying to.  "Besides, Pollux isn't even gay!  He's _bisexual_ , and he mostly dates girls.  How about you swallow your prejudices for one freaking day.  Now, I need a break.  I'm going out.  Try not to kill each other when I'm gone!"   

"Ana," Pollux says softly, and I glance back at him to find him looking at me gratefully, "You have your phone?"   

"Always," I reply, smiling at him affectionately before darting across the living room to the back door right beside the breakfast nook.  I grab my messenger bag off the hook and sprint outside, down the stairs, and across the plains to Heatherby Farms, the small family owned farm only a few yards from the house.   

I run into the barn, scribbling a note to Mr. and Mrs. Heatherby on their whiteboard before walking over to the stall that contains the massive dappled gray gelding, Moose, who has been my partner in crime since they'd let me start riding him on weekends.  I tack him up quickly before mounting and flying from the barn, aware that I shouldn't start him out at a flat-out run before warming him up but feeling the overwhelming need to get away as quickly as possible.  When we pass the pub, which I can vaguely see in the distance, I slow him to a walk, letting him relax and stretch his muscles while picking his own pace.  I sit up straight and lean my head back, looking up at sky.  The sunlight is fading, and I can already see the thin crescent moon, only one, though since the second is already a new moon.   

After a few minutes of walking, I can feel Moose dancing, pulling lightly at the reins, eager for another run, and I smile, shaking my head as my gaze locks on the open land ahead of us.  We're coming up on the Ashford 'manor farm', which is a nice way of saying 'plantation'.  For miles and miles all I can see is the high wall that surrounds the acres and acres and acres of land.  Sighing, I let Moose lope until we reach the main road; it's near empty, but I slow him to a walk anyway as we move around the Ashford mansion alongside the street.  I take a moment to glance up at the balcony of the mansion where I see Julianne giggling, attempting a fail of a provocative pose while Nick smiles at her indulgently, leaning down for a sloppy French kiss.  _And another nail in my fucking cross_ , I think to myself, shaking my head and urging Moose into a canter.  We duck around the manor, skimming between the import/export warehouse and the small Wright Farm, which is more a subsistence farm than anything else.   

Despite Moose's excitement, I force him to walk as we enter the forest.  It's a lot of exposed roots, random patches of water, and ankle deep mud.  Moose's instincts are better than mine, and I have faith he'll be able to avoid all the obstacles that the alien forest poses; I'm not, however, confident in _my_ ability to _remain_ in the saddle through it all.  We continue to pick our way through the forest with, checking him back every now and again until I just let him trot his way through the thick forest confidently as I sit back and enjoy the view.   

Suddenly, he tenses beneath me.  A low, frighteningly familiar growl reaches my ears, though not from the ground this time; I freeze, like Moose,  and my eyes drift upward into the branches with dread.   

Whatever it is, it springs with an ear splitting screech.   

It's a damn good thing Moose's reactions are swifter than mine.   

Moose takes off suddenly, and I fall forward onto his neck at the unexpected motion.  I right myself as quickly as I can, gripping his mane and letting him pick both his pace and his way through the forest.  My thighs hug his sides tightly and my toes curl uselessly in my boots, attempting to hug the saddle for dear life the way my instructor had once taught me.  The thing follows, jumping from branch to branch, keeping up remarkably well and seeming almost like it's flying, though I'm too busy trying to stay on to look back and find out.   

My eyes narrow on the fallen tree up ahead, and I have my doubts we can make that jump.  Regardless, I crouch anyway, holding on tight and praying that we make it.  I keep my gaze locked straight ahead and try to ignore the hisses and movement of the thing coming after us.  I take a deep breath and remember everything both the Heatherbys and my old riding instructors once taught me.   

Find a focal point.  _Check_.  Get into position.  _Check_.  Right before the jump remember move hands halfway up the horse's neck and keep them steady.  _Check, check._   'Don't look back at the demonic creature trying to kill you' hadn't been on the final.  I shake my head: _focus_.  And count.   

One...two...three...   

With no hesitation, Moose leaps over the tree, and I fight a smile.  _We're going to make it!_   Just as we're about to land, there's a terrifying screech and what feels like several razor blades piercing my skin and tearing through my back.  The claws end up latching into Moose who cries in alarm.  He lands heavily, obviously in as much pain as I am, and, unable to hold on, I tumble off his back, shocked by the abrupt impact, groaning in pain like I've never felt before.  Moose rears before slamming his hooves back down on the ground, eyes wide, breathing heavy.  He's going to bolt, I can see it, but I can't find myself caring as I bite my lip and fight the urge to cry.  _Why does it hurt so much?_

I see the shadow descending, and I'm unsure whether it's going for me or for Moose.  Breathing deeply, I stare at it and count.   

One...two...   

There's a whirring sound, and I see something glide through the air towards the shadowed creature, but even I can see it's going to miss its mark.  The screech, hoofbeats, and a long, shrill whinny drown my ears, and another figure, humanoid this time, jumps though brush.  It's a horse...and a rider.  The rider holds a hand up and shifts it like he's guiding something; I follow the direction of the hand to see the arrow change course sharply, deliberately, unnaturally, piercing the animal right in the eye and wedging in deeply.  With a screech, the creature plummets to the side with a crash.  I ignore the pain, getting to my feet and backing away as quickly as I can.   

The rider hops off his mount smoothly, catching hold of a panicked Moose's reins just as three more horses and riders burst into the clearing, one holding a bow in his hand.  The one dismounted rider hands over Moose's reins to his comrade and approaches me.   

I shake my head desperately, "Stay away from.  What the hell are you?" I snap at him, a thin slip of moonlight falls across his face.   

I don't know why I'm so surprised.   

"Breathe Anastasia," he instructs patiently.   

"How can I breathe? You're-you just—" I can feel tears streaming down my face as I shake my head frantically.  Pain is radiating through my body.  I just saw the impossible.  My new home is a shark tank.   

"Ssh," he says gently, reaching out to touch me but drops his hand when I flinch away, "Do not say a word about that..." He frowns as I start shaking concern flickers across his face, "Anastasia, relax, you are going into shock."   

"Please," I whisper despondently, my voice cracking, "just stay away from me."  I'm crying and I'm pleading and I'm terrified.   

"I...go home but do not tell anyone about this, not even them," he whispers gesturing back at the rest of his company.  I barely hear his words and don't react to them.  He studies me. I stare blankly ahead, and he sighs, stepping closer.  I take a step back, fighting to get away until he finally catches me, pulling me into his arms and carrying me, kicking and screaming, back to the horses.  Moose is still as panicked as I am, his heavy, shaky breathing audible.  The man swings me onto the back of his own horse, "Hold on.  Nierox will take you home.  Do not tell anyone what you saw until I speak to you."   

I don't react, and I'm not sure I could if I wanted to.  The pain is eclipsing.  I grip the horse's mane tightly in my hands.  Downy feathers seem to press into my legs.  As I descend I to unconsciousness all I feel is wind. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Moose was a real horse, a dappled gray Anglo-Arab who I learned how to canter and jump on. I tried to buy him but the girl scouts wouldn't sell him (he was that awesome). My barn in Georgia bought him back from them a couple years ago and he died this year while I was up in New York. RIP Moose <3 Also, this takes place a little more than 80yrs into the future, which you can probably pick up on but there's no exact date. Also, if you haven't seen Prometheus...do it! Apparently it's the prequel to Alien (which I've never seen) but it's pretty awesome.  
> ...I just realized, Pollux absolutely does not mostly date girls. What a bold-faced lie.


	5. Chapter Five

People have often wondered why Pollux and I are so close, besides him being my literal genetic other half.  He's all I have and the only person who get me completely.  Jace is too young for either of us to have establish a friendship with, and Dad has the emotional capacity of a rock.  Then, there's Mom who is nearly forty and has yet to find herself, which wouldn't be a problem if her own self-directed disappointment wasn't channeled at anyone within reach and made her emotions flip-flop at the drop of a hat.  She's strong and determined, quick to anger, and really supportive of all of us.  Not only that, she's also a master manipulator (when it comes to anyone except our father), a great cook, and relatively just when dealing out punishments.  When it comes to dealing with our father, she's either a failing mediator or an angry attack dog.  When she's overwhelmed, she's the world's worst nightmare, mine especially since I always seem to feel the brunt of her anger.   

In that respect, Eden and Aurora had been good for both of us.  On Earth, Pollux had been busy with hockey practices and rolling joints with his junkie crowd of friends, which meant Jace was my responsibility.  I'd never wanted a little sister, and Jace, cute as she is, happens to be equally as spoiled, selfish, and entitled as most younger children are.  She'd stolen candy and left the wrappers everywhere.  Her room was a pig stye of toys, markers, stuffed animals, and papers, a black hole where things went in and never came out that always seemed to expand into the living room.  I was absentminded and far more focused on my art; it was my passion, and I put it before everything.  Dad's constant traveling had all but left her a single parent superwoman, and, consequently, her expectation for me had been impossibly high and utterly stressful, unbeknownst to her.  Between the two of us, Jace and I could fill the sink in a weekend.  We were both picky eaters and I'm not an exceptional cook.  I don't have the patience for children, especially not technological and candy obsessed ones.   

I'd hole myself in my room with the cats, leave a movie on for background noise, and sketch freehand on whatever I could find, stopping only to change the litter box or prepare dinner that Jace wouldn't finish so she play computer games or watch some teeny-bopper movie while throwing her toys around.   

_That's_ when the arguments had begun, or more, the degradation of how _lazy_ I am, and how I do nothing, unlike my friends.  That I am a lazy, money-grubbing parasite who takes and takes, giving nothing back.  That not everything was Jace's fault—never mind that I never claimed it all was—and was I responsible the way I expected Jace to be at her age?  How could I sit around and do _nothing_?  How could I claim to love our animals and forget to feed them?   

I wanted to say that I _had_ been more responsible than Jace as a child.  I'd had to be since there was no one else to blame _but_ me.  How were we supposed to teach Jace personal responsibility when she got away with everything and never had to take responsibility for _any_ thing?  How can she honestly sit there and tell me that I'm lazy when she doesn't have the slightest clue what goes on in the house when she's not there and never will because she's always one minute away from snapping so I'll never tell her the truth?  She said she just wanted me to not be lazy, do what I was supposed to do but there was a laundry list she never wrote down so, of course, I was bound to forget: do the dishes, put away the dishes, make sure the house isn't a mess, make sure your sister's room is clean, make sure the both litter boxes get done, feed and give water to the cats, don't let my sister play on the computer all day, check her homework to make sure it's done (correctly), pack her lunch, unpack her lunchbox, give her water, make sure she brings the bottle home, feed her, put her to bed promptly, make sure she has teeth brushed and goes to the bathroom before bed, make sure she doesn't lose anything, make dinner, make breakfast, get to school on time, take her to church, take her to church school and don't forget to do your own homework.  I'm not a mother, not a housewife, and not overly fond of cleaning...I wasn't cut out to play mommy, which she didn't understand.   

Her complete blindness to how difficult it was to do what she does everyday, get sleep, and then actually manage to get myself up in the morning is forgivable.  The real reason I always clung to Pollux, even when he was a horny, blissed-out pothead, was our mother's destructive continued relationship with our father who she doesn't like, doesn't respect, and certainly doesn't love.  Her duty-bound, good Christian-girl approach to her dying relationship is hard to swallow, especially given my own low opinion of my father.  Regardless of my forgiveness of her and the issue's end, the whole situation had left its fair share of scars.  Blame is a pressure point for me, and I've willingly lost friendships because I refuse to fully take the blame for a fight.  I do it at home; I won't do it with people who are supposed to love and accept me for who I am.   

Pollux has always come through for me, always understood me.  There was no one else I trusted enough to call to meet me outside the house at nearly midnight, staggering from the horse to the house, the skin on my back in bloody shreds.  He'd asked no questions as he lifted me into his arms.  I looked up at him through my lidded, delirious gaze and said, "Don't tell them."   

Pollux carried me up the stairs as covertly as possible and deposited me in my room, helping me out of my clothes before cleaning my wounds with surprising efficiency and rubbing an anti-bacterial salve on my open wounds to stave off infection.  He wrapped me in gauze like a mummy and put me in one of his oversized tee shirts before declaring I was on bed rest until further notice and curling up beside me like we used to when we were kids, Demetri resting between us.  Mom and Dad spent the whole long weekend blissfully ignorant, Pollux lying and saying I had a fever to keep both them and Jace out of my room while I lounged up in the window seat and devoured most of my collection of books, Demetri, content, sitting in my lap, and the native man's horse seeming to appear and disappear sporadically, seeming more like a distant shadow, though I knew better.   

Despite my gratitude and the slow-healing wound, I escaped at the first opportunity, not a good idea since the pain had left me seeking a rest stop halfway through the excursion.   

"I figured you would be here," a familiar voice says to me.   

I sit on a low hanging branch just outside the trading post the Sunday before school begins again.  It hurts to breath.  I've probably reopened the wounds, but the fresh air seems to be doing some good regardless.  I no longer feel like I'm going stir crazy.  I hadn't regretted escaping the house to go grocery shopping with Mom and Jace before, regardless of my state, but, considering the way my heart pounds and panic floods my every pore, I'm starting to.   

Turning my gaze from the sketchbook to the source of the sound, No Name Native Man stands just below, looking similar to the way he had last time we'd been at the trading post except for the beaded feather braided into a section of his hair.   

I frown down at him, "How do you figure that?  I'm supposed to be on bed rest and still would be if my brother hadn't taken a day off as jailer to play soccer in the park."   

Just looking at him brings back terrifying memories of that night.  He killed a...something by controlling an arrow with his _mind_.  I fight to keep my breathing steady and my muscles still, not twitching with anxiety.  My heart rate, though, can't be controlled and races out of the strongest, purest form of fear; I want to run from him in a way I hadn't a week ago when he'd been simply intimidating as opposed to some terrifying mutant monster out of an X-Men comic that can kill me with a thought.   

"Alright, I did not 'figure'; I knew," he replies.   

"How?"  I demand, narrowing my eyes at him.  Does he have Jedi Mind powers too?   

He gives me a slight smile and inclines his head, and I follow the direction of the gesture to see his horse's broad midnight head poking out from the shade of the trees.  It looks up at me through its long, wispy forelock and nickers at me softly while I look back at the native, "You had your _horse_ stalk me?"   

"He was not stalking you; he was watching over you."   

"Watching over me? I don't even know your name and you've got your animal 'watching' me like some kind of creepy, homicidal stalker," I force my tone to remain light as I try to steady my voice.   

"Homicidal?  I am now _homicidal_?"     

I don't say anything, biting the inside of my cheek and staring at him, attempting to keep my expression blank as opposed to fearful.   

He studies me for a moment before shifting his weight awkwardly and turning his head to the side, "I brought back your horse.  Our healer tended the wounds and calmed him."  I can feel myself beginning to shake, and I wrap my arms around myself, swallowing hard.  He sighs, "Anastasia...Ana, I am not going to hurt you.  You do not need to be afraid of me."   

My head whirls around, eyes focusing on him, "I'm not afraid of you."  The denial comes out defensively, quite obviously like the lie it is.   

He laughs harshly and shakes his head looking angry and frustrated, "You are terrified of me.  I can see it in your eyes."   

Gulping, I turn my gaze away from him, narrowing on the trees before turning back to him, "You stabbed an animal with an arrow...with you mind."  I say the last three words slowly and in obvious disbelief, my breathing rate abruptly quadruples.  I'm on the verge of another panic attack.   

"It was trying to kill you," he snaps.   

" _With your mind_!"  I scream at him, my voice crackling and desperate.  I don't want to believe it, but it's impossible to deny it.   

He shrugs like it's no big deal, grinding his teeth together, "I am no danger to you."   

I scoff, "No danger?  You _stabbed_ an animal with an _arrow_ without even _touching_ it."   

"I have no intention of burying a projectile into you."   

"Not now, but what about in the future?"   

"You truly think I am a homicidal, blood thirsty monster," he comments, the tone is full of disbelief and anger.   

"I think that you can kill without even lifting a finger.  I think that's dangerous— _you're_ dangerous."   

He smiles coldly, "No, you think I'm a _savage_."   

For a moment, the word hangs in the air between us, and it gnaws at my soul, reminding me of my sister and my ancestry.  It's a disgusting word to use to sum up another person, almost as cruel as calling someone subhuman like they are some kind of instinct driven primate instead of a rational person.  The fear ebbs away just slightly being overtaken by anger. "Don't put words in my mouth," I hiss.   

"Then learn not to imply them.  Every word has meaning behind it whether you are aware of the meaning or not."   

"I'm not racist!"  I sound eerily like my father.   

"I would not blame you for swallowing the government propaganda that seems to have permeated the culture of your people.  It is only human to accept what is told to you by predetermined superiors without question...without thought."   

I narrow my eyes at the implications but choose to ignore them to address the larger issue, "I don't think all natives–" he rolls his eyes at the word but doesn't interrupt "–are dangerous.  Just you."   

He grits his teeth, smiling sardonically like my words are a bad inside joke, and I narrow my eyes at him when he suddenly looks over at me, "Are you going to report me?"  I remain silent, swallowing hard and looking back down at my paper without really seeing the image I'd sketched; he laughs bitterly, "And you wonder why I wouldn't tell you my name."   

"I don't need it," I snap.  "My sketch'll be accurate."   

"I save your life, and you do this?"   

"You saved my life, but you have the potential to take hundreds.  You—what you can do—is a threat to everyone living here."   

"And your kind is a very threat to the stability of this entire planet!  Who is the greater evil?"   

"I can't risk the lives of my friends and family for you!"  I shout at him, tears forming in my eyes.   

He pauses for a second, staring at me and running a hand through his hair, looking completely out of his element.  It's a shocking sight from someone who always seems so intentionally self-assured and intimidating.  When his eyes meet mine again, I see the pain and the guilt lurking in the back of them, and I frown in confusion.   

"I understand, Anastasia; I really do, but you cannot report this.  I will not _allow_ you to report this."  His tone sends a chill down my back as does his hard gaze and set jaw.   

"Are you threatening me?"  I demand in a harsh whisper, and he swallows but doesn't back down.  My heart pounds in my chest rapidly, and my eyes widen with fear, "I knew you were dangerous."  I murmur to myself.   

He hears me and looks up, conflict clear in his eyes, "Anastasia, I have to protect my family."   

"How does this protect your _family_?  What would killing me accomplish?"   

"Your people would kill _me_.  They would defile my body and turn me into an experiment, taking me apart to figure out what makes me tick.  And regardless of whether or not they found anything, they would tear apart my tribe to discover if anyone else could do the same.  What do you suppose would happen then?"   

"Can they?"  I ask, my focus suddenly shifting to that horrifying possibility.   

"They would take them in and do the same.  Keep them alive.  Keep them dead.  Your people search for answers to questions they should not ask.  That they are not ready to know."   

"Can they do what you can?"  I demand, and he suddenly seems to realize what I'm asking.   

His body tenses for a moment, and his eyes meet mine, hesitation filling them before he looks away to the two horses nibbling grass side by side in the shadow of the trees, much more  at ease with each other than we are.  "You know too much already," he tells me in a nice, vague non-answer.  I can feel myself start to panic when he continues, "No one can do what I can, but it is still a danger to my family, to my people."   

_No one can do what I can..._

Relief floods through me, and I run trembling fingers through my hair, looking over at him.  I shake my head, "I-I-I have to.  I don't trust you, and I can't risk my family for your safety."  

"You cannot risk your family to prevent the genocide of an entire species."   

"Genocide comes from hate.  We don't hate your people."   

"Genocide comes from fear.  And you _do_ fear us."   

"You think we'd attack if they found out about you?  You're just one person," I point out.   

"Who has the power to kill and harm a great many, as you pointed out, should I recall correctly.  They would not believe there are not more and would purge to be sure.  Your people would welcome it."   

"No, they wouldn't."   

He scoffs, "They would.  I am not saying they are bad people, Anastasia.  They are simply unreasonable and afraid.  As it is, fear turns people into animals and devolves them to baser instincts of survival.  Animals—predatory animals—in fear do three things: put their ears back, bare their teeth, and then they strike first.  Your people have already bared their teeth, and, should they discover me, they would take action and people would welcome it.  It is self-preservation now but it would become genocide."   

Part of me wants to scream at him that he's wrong, but another part, the part of me that reads history books for fun and starts arguments with my classmates over the happenings of history knows that he's right.  Every dominant country on Earth has a history of colonization for economic and social reasons, oppressing the indigenous people, eroding their culture, and physically destroying their homeland, taking it over as their own.  In the Americas, various nations had taken over, enslaved the native populace until they were forced to release them from bondage since they were dying of diseases by the thousands.  Later, they'd fought and fought with them, slaughtering whole tribes and pushing them off their lands, forcing them onto reservations and confiscating their property.  Are we any different?   

Some days it seems like the only reason we still allow the Tstori to remain on their tribal land is because they live on swampy, boggy land that we are unable to truly take advantage as of yet, the way we eventually had in Florida, Georgia, and Louisiana.  Plus, with the rising prejudice and dislike of the Tstori, he may have a point.  People are afraid of them due to tales and stories spun by soldiers who'd been apart of the first wave upon coming to Aurora.  Not to mention they are backed up against a wall; in colonial America, the American colonists had eventually numbered into the millions and had relatively easy access to supplies.  On Aurora, we are vastly outnumbered, which is only an assumption since we don't actually know how many natives there are since they don't exactly cooperate.  They have a network of tribes all over while we have two settlements that, together, sport a population just over four thousand.  We may have better weapons, but it is a limited supply with limited manpower.   

I run shaking fingers through my hair and plead, "Wouldn't you be scared?"   

For a moment, he looks taken aback by the question.  He hesitates, "I would be, but there would be no one to blame for myself.  There are consequences to every action, and that would be mine."   

"It's being out of control," I tell him quietly.  "Power is everything, and without it, without even the _feeling_ of it, people can go mad with fear.  Fear can cripple you, it can strengthen you, and it can enslave you.  Turn you into something you're not."  I shake my head at my random moment of philosophy before looking up at him, "It cripples _me_."   

"You panic," he nods in understanding.   

"I always know what to do afterwards, what to say.  But, at the time, I just freeze.  I froze when the chupacabra thing came after me when I should have moved, kicked it, waited a little longer before throwing the knife.  When that other thing attacked me, I should have worked through the pain," I berate myself.  "There's always another option."   

He nods, "There is.  Who told you that?"   

I shrug, "I think I read it in a book once."  He raises an eyebrow at me and snorts while I stick my tongue out at him, "What?  I read a lot of books!  I have a lot of spare time here, you know.  I can't exactly go running around in a foreign planet that hasn't even been fully explored yet.  What do you expect?"   

"Reading is good," he tells me with a genuine smile.  "What do you read?"   

"Everything," I say with a smile, leaning my head back against the trunk and lolling it to the side to look into the distance, "Even things everyone else thinks is boring and pointless."   

"Such as?"   

"What would you know about it, anyway?"  I challenge.   

He doesn't take the bait, "Humor me."   

"Nothing recent.  They're all smutty love stories with the same plot line and trivial problems.  I like most of the older stuff: _Vampire Academy, the Night Circus, Harry Potter, A Discovery of Witches, Running With Scissors_.  And some of the classics, especially the 'dystopian' ones," I roll my eyes at how we are now living in the years a lot of dystopian novels were written before listing my favorite classics, " _Pride and Prejudice, Animal Farm, Brave New World, Frankenstein, Count of Monte Cristo_.  And I read a lot of biographies.  I like history...and just books."   

A slight smile crosses his lips, and he nods obligingly, "I can see that."   

"I have an obsession with the failures and devolution of polite society," I tell him with a shrug.  "And a fascination with the circle of economic inequality and the stages of revolution that come as a consequence."  He frowns, clearly confused, and I bite my lip, smiling at him and shaking my head, "Don't worry about it, but if it bothers you that much I could lend you a book of philosophy and you can read the 'Allegory of the Cave'...can you read?"  I feel like it's such a stupid question that I blush, but I don't know for sure.  We are told the natives aren't capable of learning English; I'm not sure what else we're ignorant of.   

He gives me a soft smile, and I feel my embarrassment fade, "Yes, Anastasia, I can read English, better than you can most likely."   

"What?  You can read like Shakespeare and shit without getting a headache?"  I snicker while he raises an eyebrow.   

"I can recite whole scenes of _Othello, Macbeth_ , and _Romeo and Juliet_."   

My mouth pops open in surprise, "What the hell?  Are you human?"   

"I am intelligent."   

"And I'm not?"  I raise an eyebrow at him crossing my arms over my chest.   

"You could be," he frowns at me suddenly as I swing my legs to the same side of my branch, letting my notebook fall as I struggle for balance.  He catches the pad, looking up at me seriously, " _That's_ not smart.  You're the unluckiest person I've ever met."   

I smile, "This isn't about random forces beyond my control.  This would be my fault, if I fall."   

" _When_ you fall."   

My gaze meets his, and I grip onto the wood tighter for both our peace of mind and tilt my head, "How else am I supposed to get down?"   

"How did you get up?"   

Laughing, I shake my head, "It's always easier going up.  One way or another getting back down is going to hurt."   

"Your back hurts?"   

"Of course," I sigh, rolling back my shoulders at the throb of pain I'd been doing a good job of ignoring until he'd reminded me.  "I should jump, rip the bandaid off."   

"You would sprain your ankle again."   

"Maybe," I admit to him, nodding my head while my stomach twists into knots at the thought of the pain that is waiting for me at the foot of the tree.  I didn't even really think when I'd first climbed the tree, just that it looked relatively easy with low-lying branches for a first-timer.  Now, being up and looking down, the branches just seem to be farther away than they had been getting up; I have to trust my legs and my ankles as opposed to my hands and my arms.  I can't grip them the same way.  Regardless, I'll probably pop open the new scabs that are only tethered over the wounds by thin threads.   

Sighing, I move my shoulders back and forth, wishing that I could have both feet firmly on the ground without any acrobatics.  I scowl and look up at the sky, letting my shoulders droop and flinching as the fabric pulls against where dried blood has made the shirt a part of the scab.  "I don't like being helpless.  I need to feel powerful and in control and like the untouchable, unshakeable ice queen I pretend to be.  But I'm not.  Not even a little.  Not at my house.  Not at school.  And certainly not on this godforsaken planet, miles and miles from home," I laugh bitterly, shaking my head, as shocked at my sudden confession as the man seems to be, but it's something I've never done before, just tell some stranger about my life problems.  Some guy did it once to me on the subway and had then smiled with genuine relief and thanked me for letting him get that.  "My dad promised me he'd teach me how to fight ever since I saw this crazy karate movie in film elective.  He never did, though.  Mom taught us how to shoot, but Dad just handed me a pocketknife when we moved here and told me to figure out how to defend myself.  How screwed up is that?"  I bark out a humorless laugh.   

"I want to try something, Anastasia."   

"Are you asking my permission?"   

"No."   

"Should I be worried?"   

He hesitates and tilts his head to the side before shrugging, "I do not know.  It has never been attempted before with someone like you."   

"Someone like me?"  I raise my eyebrows at him while he meets my gaze seriously.  I laugh, not offended by his innocent and ridiculously common digs.   

"I need some time to figure out how to do this.  Can you meet me in a week?"   

"What?  Here?"  I ask, looking at him incredulously.   

"No, the canyon at the edge of the map," I frown at him, trying to picture the map of Eden and its surrounding land.  I don't remember there being a canyon on the map, not in the forest...or anywhere for that matter.  "Wait..."   

"The horse will lead you there," he tells me before I can ask, and I frown, glancing at the gray horse who looks up at me for a split second, blows air from his lips, and tosses his head before turning his attention back to his grass.   

I shake my head, "I can't.  I have mass."   

With my Greek Orthodox family, mass is of the utmost importance despite the fact that my brother and I don't particularly put a lot of stock in organized religion.  Dad probably doesn't either, but the one thing he ever told me about his continued attendance is that he finds peace.  Mom holds tightly to her Christian roots and encourages Jace to do the same, hoping she'd be the one that sticks to it since Pollux and I both bowed out gracefully after Confirmation.   

There is only one inconvenient mass time at 11:00 that almost every Christian—Catholic or otherwise—attends at the townhouse shared by Father Lorenzo, Father Harold, Reverend John Ryland, and Pastor Dean de Lorenis who take turns with mass dates and times since there's no official church.  There's also a mosque that runs out of a neighborhood home and a Jewish Temple that operates out of a farmhouse.  The town charters claims we aren't allowed to build religious official centers of worship until the population reaches a certain number with corresponding religious percentage.   

For a moment, he studies me seriously before saying, "Skip it."   

I want to really, really badly, but I bite my lip, unsure if I'll be able to.  Pulling off the 'I'm so sick' routine for another week wouldn't work without Mom sending me to the clinic for a check up.  Otherwise, we usually travel there as a family and sit together unless our parents get caught up at work.   

"If you can't..." he begins.   

"No," I cut in quickly, my determination solidifying, "I can make it."   

"You sure?"  He raises an eyebrow with a smile.   

Taking a deep breath, I sigh but give a distinct nod, "Yes."   

"Good.  Are you planning on getting down now?"   

I give another strong nod full of false confidence, "Yep."   

"You can jump.  I won't let you fall."   

Quietly, I consider his offer before meeting his gaze and shaking my head, "No thanks.  I got myself up here, now it's my responsibility to get myself down."  I take a deep breath and start climbing, praying to God I don't slip.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...Ana has a complicated relationship with her mother, mysterious Tstori remains nameless, and the story is about to start going somewhere.


	6. Chapter Six

Christmas overtakes Eden quicker than I can blink.   

For the most part, a lot of our strong ties from home had had to be cut back, especially since our colony is diverse in religion and nationality, but Christmas, no matter what religion people are, is out in full swing, the one last connection we have to home.  And since it's the one thing that nearly every other country has in common, it isn't a surprise that the town is fully decorated in wreaths, 'boughs of holly', and Christmas lights.  But the fact that they did it all in a week and no one is whining about how it infringes on their beliefs is a surprise and a blessing.  Even our ever outspoken colony atheists are holding their tongues.  Obviously they value the familiar feel of commercialism and good cheer.   

"I can't believe they manage to put all these up in only a week," Pollux muses as we walk up the street on either side of Moose.  Jace giggles from where she sits atop Moose's back waving her hand like she's some kind of queen.  I glance up at her, and she gives me an impish smile and finger wave before thrusting her chin back up in the air with the demeanor of a regent looking down at her commoners.  And _that's_ why my sister should be an actress despite the fact our parents seem to be trying to groom her for some well-paying job in business or something.   

No.   

Glancing over at Pollux, I shrug, "Do you remember how quickly they put them up in the City?"   

Pollux scoffs, "Little Miss Naïve, that's cuz they keep them up all year."   

"Lies!"   

"Not a lie."   

"God you're such a dream killer."   

"'Thou shall not take the name of The Lord in vain,'" Jace recites to us, indignant.   

Pollux and I glance at each other.   

"Yes, mother.  You want to kill anymore of my life?  Next thing you know I won't be able to swear or covet.  The swearing's going to be a problem dear sister."  I tell her calmly, her face blank and serious.   

It splits into a smile suddenly, "I'm only kidding.  I'm practicing for my class today."   

"Since when are you taking an acting class?"  Pollux frowns at her.   

"I'm not," Jace shrugs, "I was practicing my commandments for the church class after mass.  Speaking of, why don't you two ever have to go to some kind of religious class?  So unfair."   

"Because, we're older than you," I say.   

"Because, Mom likes us better," Pollux adds with a teasing smile.   

"Because you're both so annoying they'd kick you out of the class," Jace snickers.   

We purse our lips and meet eyes, fighting back giggles.  We're both remembering one of the last church classes we'd ever taken for confirmation.  _That_ had been a disaster.  Jace stops snickering and narrows her eyes at us, clearly dying to know.   

I shrug, "I mean, it's not like they didn't let us come back.  Besides, who puts candles, pamphlets, and pixie sticks on a table with teens that are trapped in a room at said table learning about God for _ninety minutes_.  Especially when two of those teens are _us_."   

Pollux nods, "What did they expect?"   

"What did you two _do_?"  Jace groans even as she starts to grin.   

"We cannot speak his name!"  Pollux cries dramatically.   

I toss him a weird look, and he just shrugs.  I turn back to Jace, "We'll tell you when you're older.  I don't appreciate how people overexpose kids these days to the harsh realities of life.  Yes, you know all about drugs, sex, and alcohol, and majority of your friends dress like strippers in a music video for some materialistic rapper but as long as _I_ am your sister, you will be raised with morals and ethics. Clear?"   

Jace halts in her arguments before sighing, "Fine, whatever."   

"That's what I thought."   

"You're so lame," Jace sighs, rolling her eyes.   

"I care not!"   

"Don't be a bitch.  I know this might be a new theory for you since people don't actually force children to do this anymore but you should have respect for you elders and as well as your family.  That's like double the respect since she's both."   

"I get it," Jace snaps, sighing and leaning forward to bury her face in Moose's mane.  Clearly, _someone's_ annoyed.   

Pollux and I share a glance before he darts in front of the horse, spinning around to link his arm through mine.  He leans into my side and scrutinizes me; I raise my eyebrow, "What's up with the horse?  And the outfit?  We're going to mass not joining our dystopian, new-age version of the cavalry.  What gives?"   

A smile tugs at my lips as I shake my head at his slightly dramatic description of my olive green cargo pants, combat boots, and a baggy black tee-shirt, my hair in a single ponytail falling to my back.  Rolling my eyes, I shove him away and put a hand on my hip, fighting the urge to cross my arms over my chest, which would pull the reins of Moose's bridle, "Kid, I'm not dressed in camo with a Kevlar strapped to my chest.  It's cargo pants and a black tank."   

"To church," my brother speculates with pursed lips and a disbelieving look.   

Church in Eden has sent us back to the days of Puritan New England where people judge you all the time for being out of place.  It's the one locale where Pollux digs out his khaki dress pants and a polo shirt while I generally don sundresses and cardigans.  Ridiculous but necessary to prevent people from shit talking behind your back to their friends; _those_ rumors gets around.  They're all hypocrites because this is the 21st Century where divorce rate is the same as marriage rate, cheating is common practice, and morality is on the decline (we all know they are dirty little freaks at home) but in church... _fake it till you make it_.   

Sighing, I glance back at Jace to see she's recovered her good humor and has a pair of wireless earbuds blasting pop music in her ears while she sings along loudly.  My eyes dart back to Pollux, "Uh...I might be skipping."   

"Excuse me?  You're going to leave _me_ , the unnatural heathen in the house of the holy, _alone_?"   

Pursing my lips, I nod, "I have plans."   

"With who?"   

"A person...with a face?"   

"And a name?"  Pollux prompts.   

I scowl, "I'm starting to wonder about that."  Pollux gives me a look, and I shrug, "For reals, I don't know but when I do, you'll be the first to know."   

"Promise?"   

"On our blood."   

"On our DNA, you selfish bitch.  Can I skip with you?"  Pollux asks pathetically, giving me a puppy dog look as we come to a stop outside of the busy townhouse, which we can always tell apart from its identical, attached neighbors due to the giant cross that dominates the front lawn.  It makes me glad we don't live near them; it has to be uncomfortable to see day after day.  _Jesus is always watching!_

I offer him a soft smile and shake my head, "No but I love you."  Pollux flips me the bird and sticks his tongue out as he helps Jace off the horse.  She abandons us quickly, earbuds still in, "You could skip alone.  Who knows if the 'rents are gonna show."   

"I've got it; besides, Jace actually _likes_ to go."   

"Weird," I grimace.   

"I know.  Stay safe," he tells me as I mount the horse as gracefully as possible, my back screaming out in pain at the massively oppressive, movement restricting scabbed over wound.   

I salute him before grinning, "Will do."   

"Phone on," he orders, walking backwards, eyes still on me.   

"Always."   

He grins, and we both turn to go our separate ways.

* * *

Moose actually seems to know where he's going, and it's a surprise despite the fact that I was told he would.  It's also beyond nerve wracking, but I sit back, loosen the reins, and allow him to pick his path, winding deeper and deeper in a forest full of hostile mythical creatures incarnate.  I tend to stay out of the forest, as a general rule, but have made a few exceptions recently for my brother's happiness, per my mother's request, and for general peace of mind since most sane people tend to stay in civilization where we have indoor plumbing, central heating and air condition, and internet connection, which can get a tad bit overwhelming.  That being said, I stay in the same part of the forest, never really venturing that far off of the beaten path except for my one time trip to the Nicholls' hunting cabin for that Halloween party (big mistake).  Usually, it has the same look and the same feel: like a creeptastic, shady rainforest full of moss, bugs, fog, trees, and animals.  It's beautiful, don't get me wrong, but not exactly special.   

This part feels different.   

Nothing changes physically; the same tall trees, grass, and dirt beneath us with moss ame vines cascading gracefully from boughs and branches.  Sunlight trickles down through patches of openings, creating a pattern of sunlight and shadows.  A slight breeze blows through the humid air, and, though I can't _see_ any animals, I can hear the snapping of branches beneath paws and feet.  Regardless of all that, the air feels charged, electric, alive.  The atmosphere seems to pulsate with a conscious energy that races through my veins even as it chills me.   

_That's not normal._   

The quiet sound of water crashing hits my ears barely a second before Moose swerves suddenly, breaking into an easy lope, and I glance over, wondering why we couldn't continue straight before jerking back with a gasp.  We're cantering along a surprising a sheer drop off; the canopies of the trees in the canyon below creating an effective illusion as though there is still a ground there.  Across the wide canyon, I see several streams of water falling down into the interior in a wide U-shaped waterfall.   

Moose stops suddenly, stomping his feet and tossing his head, and I look around carefully, my eyes stopping on an inconspicuous set of narrow stairs on the edge and leading down.  My stomach flips, and I put a hand to my stomach, swallowing hard before dismounting and landing on shaking feet, my head swimming.  I have to go alone.  It's too narrow for Moose to go down safely.     

Taking a moment, I stand at the top and stare down before glancing back over my shoulder at Moose who's surrounded by greenery and watching me with shocking intensity for a horse.  I give him a reassuring smile, swallow my fear, and begin walking, gripping the rough wall of the canyon as I go down.   

"Don't look over the edge," I chant to myself, keeping my eyes straight ahead on the next stair, "Just focus, Ana.  One step at a time."   

I have a moment of satisfaction when I reach the bottom before looking around, mouth dropping open in surprise.   

The whole center of the canyon is mostly bare, covered in soft moss with a few trees positioned in random clumps here and there; twelve or thirteen large trees placed equidistant from each other around the circumference.  The top branches bow inward to cover most of the canyon's opening save for one sunny spot in the center.  Where the hoof shaped waterfall pours in, there is a small alcove with a pool of rippling water, lotus flowers and lily pads floating on the surface.  Around the rocky walls are dozens of gorgeous murals done in paints of every color and depicting everything imaginable: wars, worship, everyday life, animals.  And above that, sitting a few yards above me, are buildings, walkways, and decks built into and of the stone; a city, ringing the entire perimeter of the canyon.  It's incredible, breathtaking.   

Strong, powerful wing beats come from above, and I jerk back into the shadows, peering up through the opening, wondering if it's a plane or a shuttle (not that I'm aware we had one scheduled to land) maybe even a helicopter.  However, my eyes land not a on piece of machinery but on a massive, four-legged animal descending through the opening, wings outspread.  For a moment, I wonder if I've entered a Harry Potter novel and muse on whether—or rather when it lands—a black-haired kid with round glasses, a lightening bolt scar, and seriously bad luck will hop off the back of a weasel-loving hippogriff named Buckbeak.  However, as the creature maneuvers through the small hole and comes to land in the center, I gape; I couldn't be more surprised if there was a unicorn standing in front of me...or Zeus.   

"That's not a horse," I whisper to myself, staring in surprise at the massive, muscled beast of a black pegasus before me.  I guess I'd been in more shock than I'd realized the night I'd gotten attacked since I had been oblivious to the fact that the 'horse' was in fact a ' _winged_ horse'; I remember the feel of warm feathers but not actually seeing a pair of wings, "That's a pegasus."   

The native man blinks in surprise at my words, confusion flickering through his eyes, "Nierox is what?"   

"A Pegasus!  What the hell?"   

"I do not know what a 'Pegasus' is," he frowns, musing to himself.   

I sigh, "I'll add Greek mythology to your reading list."  He looks at me, amused but expectant, I continue, "It's just a winged horse."   

"A pterippi," he nods while I frown.   

"What are you talking about?"   

"That's your English way of saying 'winged horse', the translation from our language," he shrugs while I frown.   

"Interesting..." I trail off, rolling back on my heels and looking around the canyon floor again, unable to resist the temptation of such a beautiful sight.  My fingers itch for a camera or even just a notebook so I can take down some sketches to remember the place by.  I've never really seen anything like it except in National Geographic magazines and old documentaries; we've destroyed places on Earth like this one to make room for our exploding population.  The rarity of a place like this astounds me.  What a historian or archeologist, not to mention Eden's anthropologists, wouldn't give to get their hands on this place.   

My gaze shifts to the native who kneels on one knee, head bent, back bowed, fingers resting lightly on the earth.  His eyes are closed, and he mutters quickly and incoherently in his native language.  Behind him, Nierox, the pegasus, stands beside the pool of water, wings spread and resting on the ground while he drinks.  When my eyes shift back to the man, he's crouched, watching me seriously, "This is not a holy land, and yet it is to some.  It is used as a training center, currently, for warriors and for our young as a type of school; it is also a safe haven and a burial ground for the fallen warriors."   

Shifting, I look down at the ground beneath my feet, "They're buried right under our feet."   

"Of course.  They are from the earth, gave their lives to protect the earth of their ancestors, and they go back to it after death.  Humans should not try to keep themselves from the earth.  We are given life from it and should return to it."  I frown, and he smiles at me, "Your people do not seem to believe that, however."   

My cheeks heat despite the fact that the words are simply a statement not a snide remark.  He makes a point, but it's a point I'd rather not see.  I want very little to do with the views of the human relationship to the earth.  We destroyed an entire planet, polluting everything on it and failing to take responsibility for our actions, clearly we have very little regard for the planet that supports us unlike the Tstori.  The realization is unsettling.   

I force a smile, "Why are we here, on some great green burial ground?  Just for kicks?  Or did we come all the way out here just for you to give me your name like we're in a spy movie?"   

"Neither," he says with a laugh, shaking his head, "you wanted to learn to defend yourself, and I wanted to try an experiment that I've been mulling on for quite some time."   

"We're using each other?"  I muse, raising an eyebrow and crossing my arms over my chest.   

"Mutually," he responds, dropping gracefully to sit cross-legged in front of me.   

Slowly, I follow his lead, "Ok Sensei, what is this experiment?"   

"Ninuk."   

"I thought this was an experiment not an operation.  Why does it have a name?"   

"My name," he laughs while I roll my eyes, embarrassed by my blonde moment.  I can practically see Pollux shaking his head at me.  "And I am going to tell you something that will probably either anger you or frighten you," he admits; my heart pounds in reaction to his words.  I stay silent, giving a nod of assent after taking a deep breath.  Ninuk smiles at me encouragingly, "Your people are ridiculously mentally deficient compared to mine.  In comparison to my people, you are feebleminded, mewling wretches without a single rational thought in your heads.  Animals driven only by emotion and selfish desires willing to do anything for peace and equality, neither of which can ever be achieved in nature let alone in human society who are the worst of the animal kingdom."   

Crossing my arms over my chest, I scowl at Ninuk, suddenly defensive towards the species that I myself tend to think so little of.  However, it's like when people call your siblings mean names (the same ones you call them) and so you freak and snap at them.  Just because _I_ say it, doesn't mean everyone else can, "What the hell are you trying to say?  You seriously just sat here and called my species a bunch of crude, animalistic ignoramuses."   

"Do not get upset," Ninuk suggests calmly.   

"Don't get upset?!  How can I _not_ get upset?  What crack pipe are you smoking?  You just called me an _animal_ , a stupid, ignorant animal that fulfills only my selfish, baser desires.  How do I not get upset about that?"  I demand angrily, tempted to get up onto my feet and march away, but something stops me.   

Ninuk shrugs mildly, "The same way I do when I see the slander your people spread about me."   

That stops me, and I pull my knees up to my chest, wrapping my arms around my legs and nodding, "I still think it was a pissy thing to say."   

"But not untrue and for a specific reason, not simply because I have a low opinion of your society, though I do," he tells me with a smirk.  I roll my eyes and bite my tongue to keep from agreeing with him.  Like the boy needs anymore ammo to talk smack against my pathetic species.  "We are, literally, more intelligent than you."   

"By how much?"   

"On average, by about 90%, it varies," he tells me, raising his eyebrows.   

For a moment, I frown before it suddenly hits me and my mouth pops open in surprise, "You-your...tribe," I say the word gingerly, "use all of your brain, not just 10% like we do?"  He grins and nods, "Holy shit, so...what's this have to do with me?"   

I'm overwhelmed at the thought of meeting someone living amongst a group of people who can use all of their brain capacity.  What does that even _mean_?  Obviously, he has telekinesis like some muscled, male version of Matilda, but if his whole tribe used the entirety of their brain...   

I try to think of all the things that my mother told me about the potential of mankind if they could use all of their brains.  Something about amazing concentration, fantastic memory, etcetera, etcetera.  I had tuned out until Dad had argued that brain scanning showed we use all the areas of our brain while Mom had argued that we do use all the _sections_ of our brains...but do we fully utilize all the connections that our numerous neurons can make?  According to her, no.  But, then, she's no neurologist; still, it's a valid point.   

Ninuk's eyes drift upwards, looking out into the little hole in the center of the canopies as he sighs, "Tstori are born with the ability to fully utilize majority of their brain capacity, but, in following of traditions handed down to us from our ancestors, children are given a supplement that suppresses that ability and learn to gain access to it through mental and physical training."   

"What if they can't get it back?"   

Ninuk shakes his head, "It happens often, people are never fully able to appreciate things unless they have to work for them, and we do not shame the members of our tribe for being unable to fully reclaim their brain capacity.  However, that is how we decide status, nothing is hereditary...at least not on purpose," he says after a few moments of hesitation.  "But it is a system that has worked for the past thousand years, and we avoid anything that has the potential to permanently damage judgment."   

"Not everyone intelligent is a good person.  And not everyone less intelligent doesn't have the potential to be a good leader."   

"I am not saying it does.  I am saying that they will just have to work much harder than everyone else to prove that they have a place in society.  People are chosen for position in the _neebtille_ ," I frown, and he pauses, searching for the right word, "council and as the _lieru_ —"   

"—chief?"  I inquire.   

"More like emperor or sultan?"  He suggests before shrugging.  "They are chosen by the elders without being aware of their brain usage, and, it just so happens, that most people with more access to their brain potential get chosen for _neebtille_.  It is not that those with less brain usage cannot get chosen.  It has happened before, but it is rare, and rarer still to be chosen as lieru while having that disability, though it has happened in recent history."   

I quirk an eyebrow, "How recent?"   

He looks over at me, "In my tribe, our last _lieru_ could only use around 40%, but he was charismatic, friendly, and had a way with people, listening and collecting their ideas.  He knew how to delegate and manage people.  He knew how to _win_ people, and he clearly loved our tribe and wanted it to prosper.  _That's_ how he was chosen."   

Scoffing, I roll my eyes, "Sounds like a fucking career politician from back home."   

Ninuk grins, "An apt observation but incorrect.  Your politicians only serve themselves.  Our potential _lierus_ are examined by the _szekzet_ —priest or priestess—as well as the reigning _lieru_.  And nothing gets past the _szekzet_."   

"How long do your...sultans or whatever rule for?  And what the hell is a...zeekzet?"  I ask, trying to pronounce the word.   

" _Lierus_ rule until they reach their old age so that they can finish their life in peace with their family unless the _szekzet_ rules otherwise.  The szeket can elongate a reign or shorten it based on their own decree.  _Lierus_ have to choose a successor by the time they turn forty, and they usually examine the potentials every year, but they do not have to choose one.  The _szekzet_ is not chosen.  He or she holds the position until death and has a successor that is blessed."   

"How do you know if someone's 'blessed'?"   

"That is enough for one day," Ninuk avoids the question, getting to his feet.  "My proposal is this: I teach you how to defend yourself in every way.  We will do hand-to-hand fighting, knife fighting, and archery.  In return, I want to try and see if I can open your mind."   

I blink at him, my mouth falling open, "What?"   

"It may not work."   

"But it might?"  I reply, getting to my feet and crossing the clearing, moving away from him.   

Ninuk nods, "It might.  We have never tried to do it with someone your age before or with someone born with a mental deficient."   

My gaze shoots back to him, "Anything else I should know?"   

"You will be exhausted, physically and mentally, because you are no child and I will not waste time easing you into it," he replies, his voice steely and toneless.  _How cheerful?_ I swallow hard and cross my arms over my chest, thinking it over, thinking over the possibilities.  He continues, drawing me out of my musings, "And no one can know about this.  Not my people or yours."   

I scoff, "If I told my fellow citizens about this, I'd be branded a traitor and stoned to death."     

It's a little dramatic but not by much.  The anti-savage sentiment in the colony grows by day, though I can't imagine why since we haven't had any hostile run-ins since the end of September when it was reported that a group of Tstori attacked a small unit of soldiers in the forest.  My only assumption is that it has something to do with the military, but I can't imagine what their endgame could be by spreading rumors.  This isn't Nazi Germany where propaganda can lead to a nationwide hatred and persecution of Jewish people.  There are far more of them than us.  They know the land, and we don't.  Why spread anti-native ideology for no reason?   

Ninuk raises his eyebrows, "That seems overly harsh."   

"Figure of speech," I shrug, smirking.   

"I know," he laughs, shaking his head before looking at me with a slight smile on his face, "It would be worse for me, especially now."   

My eyes narrow on him, "What do you mean?"   

"Nothing," he shakes his head, "are we agreed?"   

Taking a deep breath, my mind turns over the question.  Can I do this?  Should I do this?  If I do, what are the consequences?  Good and bad.  I can't fire up neurons in my mind that have never been used before and just expect everything to remain the same.  Part of me knows that, fail or succeed, this will not end well for either of us.  It's a gut feeling that I can't shake, but I want this.  I want to try.  I'm just not sure whether or not I want it to succeed, but I know that I want to try and do something incredible, something I can't do by myself.  Something to bring me a little bit of power back into my life.  Still, I have to think of my family...can I do this?  Would it hurt them potentially?   

"Anastasia," Ninuk says quietly, and my gaze lifts to meet his golden eyes locked on me, "I won't let anything happen to you."   

I take a deep breath and dive in, "Okay.  Let's do it."   

His eyes shoot back up to the sky and narrow, glancing back at the pegasus who is grazing contentedly one moment before looking up as if his master had actually _called_.  Ninuk turns back to me, "We will start next week.  Is the time alright?"   

"Anything to get out of church," I respond, rolling my eyes.   

Nierox trots over, resting his head on Ninuk's shoulder while the man reaches up to stroke the horse's muzzle absently, eyes still locked on me, the edge of his lips curling in a slight smile.  He shakes his head a little and snorts, "That says a lot about your culture where is the faith?"  He moves quickly, fisting his hand in the pegasus's mane and swinging himself up on its back; the pegasus dances in place as soon as he lands on its back.   

I scoff, crossing my arms over my chest and glaring at him, "Oh yeah?  Really?  This from the guy who probably worships a god for every season, type of precipitation, and color."  I retort, and I know taunting his religious beliefs is a low blow, a line I would ordinarily never cross, but it's just as much as him taunting my lack of faith.  "Besides," I continue, "I have faith just not in a church manned by priests out to serve the church not the people and God.  What right does Man have to talk about and for God?"   

"None," Ninuk says, calming his antsy pegasus who tosses his head in agitation clearly ready to go, not unlike Moose and his 'I want to be in motion' antics.  "We don't worship gods.  We commune with the immortal spirits of our ancestors and the balance of life within nature.  Is that not all your God really is?  The giver of life.  Life within all.  The spirit of earth and all its creatures."   

That one slams me, and I frown, thinking that one over, not noticing when Ninuk urges the pegasus into a canter, pulling to a short stop right beside me.  I startle and glance up at him, still unable to shake off his own outlook on God or his musings on humanity.  I raise an eyebrow at him as he holds out a hand, "Nierox and I will take you to the top the easy way."   

I hesitate, feeling overwhelmed by all the choices I've had to make today, but one glance at the animal's glossy feathered wings and I gingerly put my hand into Ninuk's.  An electric shock suddenly sparks in my hand, running up my arm and going off with a painful burst behind my eyes.  Squeaking in alarm, I yank my hand back, blinking rapidly for a moment.  I shake my head and press a hand to it, thumb massaging my temple.   

"Are you okay?"   

The pain is gone as the quick spark of electricity had come, one moment a burst of pain and the next, nothing; I force a smile, "I'm fine."  Once again, much more cautiously, I place my hand in his, and there's no burst of static electricity that rips through my head.  He swings me up effortlessly, and I land heavily on Nierox's back, shifting awkwardly, but find myself surprisingly comfortable despite how thin the saddle actually is.   

We are in motion without warning, Nierox's wings beating powerfully and lifting him from the ground with seemingly little effort.  For a moment, we hover in the air before he moves suddenly, shockingly quickly, and I wrap my arms around Ninuk in fear as the ground grows further and further away.  Nierox's wings propel us through the air, and the small hole in the tree canopy comes closer and closer.  Ninuk leans forward, crouching over the pegasus's long neck, and Nierox's body shifts, legs tucking under him similar to the way they do when horses jump.  I duck my head, burying my face into Ninuk's shirt.   

I feel the brush of leaves lightly against my back, and then warmer air hits my skin moments before the small jolt of Nierox's landing.  There is a moment where I just remain still, shocked at the fact that I'd just flown on the back of a pegasus, before I glance up and around to see us in the main level of the forest, Moose trotting over to say hello to Nierox.  A huge grin spreads across my face, heart pounding with wild abandon as I slide of Nierox's back, "That was fun."   

He smiles at me, "See you next week."  Ninuk gives me a sarcastic salute.   

I mount Moose as Ninuk flies off, urging the horse into a brisk trot.  We move through the forest, heading back a different way than we'd come.  After a moment of his prancing around, I ease up on the reins, allowing him to pick his own pace but not allowing him to go faster than a swift canter.  A strange feeling crosses me as we move between the trees, but I ignore it, focusing on the excited horse whose attention is focused on the fallen tree in front of us.  It's a big jump and vaguely familiar, but I let him take it, smiling broadly as we land on the other side before the feeling in my gut grows so overwhelming I'm compelled to pull him to a stop and look around.   

At first, I see nothing remarkable about the area, but my gaze catches and focuses on the deep gashes in the tree trunks.  My eyes swivel from the deep slashes in the trees to the fallen tree when it hits me, my blood turning to ice.  As if he remembers too, Moose whinnies, shifting nervously.   

Readying to encourage him to walk, I pause when a glint from the bushes catches my eye.  Frowning, I dismount quickly, pulling the reins over Moose's head and keeping him close as I walk further ahead.  I crouch in front of thick brush and peer into it; sitting in a pile of burnt wood and grass is a lightly rounded, misshapen rock covered in ash, specks of opal shining through the grime.  I pick it up, surprised to find it warm to the touch, and study it before getting up, dropping it in my saddle bag, and urging Moose home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...and I update while having a Destiny's Child throwback soundtrack...whoop! Seriously, though, listen to "Dirty Laundry" by Kelly Rowland...that's some heavy shit.


	7. Chapter Seven

America's Diner is the only place in Eden where a person can find all the comforts of home no matter what nationality they are.  It's 'fresh fast food' full of carbs, grease, and deliciousness as opposed to the standard health crap we eat here, all fresh meats, breads, and veggies _all the time_.  Sometimes, a girl just wants an artificial meal full of complex carbs and no protein whatsoever, and on those days, the girls and I head down to America's Diner.   

The diner alternates ownership—in name—between Cheng Dao-Yun, a fishermen and cook from Shanghai who makes Chinese food for the restaurant, Mariposa Reyes, a Mexican-American restaurateur who makes traditional Spanish food, and Lex Henderson, a red-blooded American who makes just about everything else.  America's serves each chef's food everyday, but the owners take turns running the kitchen in weeklong intervals, and their specific dishes are always better when that particular chef is working in the kitchen.   

On the Friday before "Winter Break" (as it's been dubbed since the US all but banned any mention of religious affiliation in relation to the wintertime period), Xochitl, Nicci, Angela, and I claim a booth by the window, sipping milkshakes while mozzarella sticks, pizza, and fries sprawl out across the table.   

"You look awful," Nicci remarks as she tosses a French fry in her mouth with a blissful smile on her face.   

Scowling, I glare at her over my cup.  "Oh thank you.  It's no wonder I have such high self-esteem with friends like you," I say sarcastically, rolling my eyes and giving her a fake smile.  I'm not mad, though, just bitchy.   

Ninuk has added Saturdays to our schedule of training, and despite only three sessions, it had taken its toll.  Both physically and mentally, I'm exhausted like he'd said I would be.  Just getting out of bed is a challenge some days.  The closest thing I've had to peace in days is when I take bubble baths while drinking chamomile tea with my mother's wave machine sound maker blaring in the background.  According to Ninuk, I shouldn't complain since the Tstori between ages six to sixteen do these same exercises everyday for all of summer and winter.   

I would die.   

"Seriously, Nicci," Angela says, raising her eyebrows at her best friend, looking at Nicci with shock and amusement.   

Nicci shrugs, "What?  Bitch knows she looks terrible otherwise she wouldn't be here in pajama pants, a sports bra, and a wifebeater with a piece of fabric wrapped around her head.  She's not exactly 'runway chic', but bag lady really isn't in her repertoire."   

"Nicci!"  Xochitl exclaims, mouth open in shock.   

"What?!"  Nicci whines, shrugging her shoulders.   

I snort at her feigned innocence and play with the ends of my ponytail, "I'm feeling the love, Nic."   

"You look like a truck ran you over," Nicci nods, smiling like she's done her good deed for the day; who knows, maybe she has.  After all, the girl used to volunteer every day of the week.  Now, the closest she comes to volunteer work is tutoring elementary school kids on their math assignments for free.   

Regardless of the shockingly blunt description, Nicci's imagery seems a good comparison to the way my body feels.  By the beginning of our first session, I'd worked out that Ninuk is probably a warrior for the tribe, but by the end, I'd worked out that he is a proper drill sergeant who lives by the words 'tough love' and believes that when I'm lying on the ground, drenched in my own sweat, crying for my mommy, I'm not trying hard enough because I still have breathe enough in my body to speak.  He has high expectations that he refuses to see disappointed, which I wish I'd known before I'd agreed to this craziness.   

From 11:15 to 5:45, he barks orders at me that I follow to the best of my abilities, which aren't, apparently, good enough.  I'm not allowed water breaks and have only fifteen minutes for lunch, most of which I spend in the small pool trying futilely to relax my aching muscles.  The rest of the session, I'm pushed to my mental and physical limit alternating between running, archery, knife-fighting, spear throwing, offensive and defensive combat the way that the Tstori learn it.  Class is all about show-and-tell, monkey-see, monkey-do, noticing, emulating, and understanding with little help from Ninuk.  He says that training _that_ way is all about finding my own way to do things and forcing my brain to make connections simply out of self-preservation.   

I think he just enjoys knocking me on my ass.   

The physical pain I can handle; it's the psychological training that drives me completely into the ground.  Some of it is fairly simple: absolutely no electronics if I can help it, daily meditation, games and puzzles that keep my mind active, but, on the other hand, our training is like a combination of Survivor and the mental seasoning of Marines.  The whole thing is all about pushing me to my limits, bringing me back, and doing things over and over and over again in a million different ways, forcing me to do the impossible and finding creative ways to make it work.  It's native Aurora boot camp or some shit.   

I'm tempted to tell Nicci "close, more like over 200 pounds of muscled native," but, since I figure that's probably a great opening for a lot of forbidden and dangerous questions, I just shake my head and go with, "Understatement of the century, Nicci, but thank you very much."   

She nods with a big smile like I've actually thanked her despite my obvious sarcasm, and Xochitl rolls her eyes as Angela laughs at all of us.  "So what have you been up to?" Angela asks in her soft-spoken tone through a wide smile.   

My eyes dart to her for a moment, and I swallow, wondering how to answer that question in the way least likely to raise too many alarm bells.  I love my friends and trust them...for the most part, but their reactions are too unpredictable for me to entrust Ninuk's life to them as well my own.  I'm stuck between a rock and a hard place.   

"You look like you've been street fighting or something," Nicci adds.    

At that suggestion, I bark out a disbelieving laugh unable to even see myself in that situation; I'm not one for fighting simply because all I can think is 'brain damage, brain damage, brain damage' which kind of ruins the whole world of lucrative professional fighting for me, "Right, yep, totally been working the underground fighting circuit.  I'm a criminal."  I shrug while my friends laugh at the absurd line.  Me? A criminal?  But it crosses my mind that I might be, technically.  It hasn't exactly been stated that it's illegal to run around with natives, but it might be one of those annoying unwritten rules.   

Xochitl narrows her eyes at me, obviously seeing something on my face that I'd rather keep hidden, and I fake a smile and try to make my expression go blank, "You're not pulling a Holden, are you?"   

Confused, I look at Nicci and Angela to see if they have a clue, though they seem just as lost by this reference as I am.  It takes me a minute to figure out what she's going on about, and I roll my eyes, "Pretty Little Liars?  Really?"  Xochitl grins and sticks her tongue out at me while I just laugh and shake my head, trying not to let my discomfort show.  So, no, I don't have a heart condition that could rupture at any moment and choose to do Korean martial arts anyway, but the secretive karate lessons are too close to the truth for me to be comfortable with, "Absolutely, dude, I live on edge."  Xochitl mouths 'fuck you' and tosses a fry at me for making fun of her, and I duck before deciding to answer somewhat truthfully, "Nah, I've just been doing some extras training with Moose.  It's pretty tiring."   

Nicci and Angela nod like this is an acceptable answer while Xochitl, who actually knows something about horses, raises an eyebrow at me, letting me know that she doesn't believe a word coming out of my mouth.  I flush and look down at the table, my fingers running over the veins of the faux marble table top.  Peeking up at her, I see her studying me, and she opens her mouth, ready to ask me something when a wave of people cross the small diner interior, moving to the window while chattering to each other nervously.  We frown at each other in confusion peering out our own window and down the street to find what's gotten everyone so worked up.  It's relatively easy to spot even through the massive hoard of bodies pressed up against the window.   

"Is that—?" Xochitl begins while my eyes widen.   

I dart out out of the booth, pushing through the crowd and out out the door, staring at the shocking, unbelievable sight.   

Traffic has stopped.  And walking down the sidewalk, relaxed and cocky, are three Tstori boys in their animal hide legging pants, boots, and thin tunics, their body jewelry sparkling under the sun and their long hair swinging freely.   

Everyone watches, some with tight, angry expressions, others with fear or disgust.  All around soldiers hold their weapons tightly against their bodies, knuckles turning bone white from the strain of holding them so rigidly, though they don't make a move.  The street is close to silent save for the low murmur of voices steadily rising louder with fear, disgust, anger, indignation, panic.   

The crowd begins to jostle as men and women of all ages, ethnicities, and lifestyles begin shouting and cursing at them.  Some people wave angry fists, and my heart pounds in fear for them.  They can't be more than thirteen and seem either unaware or unconcerned with the fact that a riot is beginning to form around them and a dangerous one at that since carrying weapons around the colony isn't only permitted, it's encouraged.  Besides, regardless of who attacks first, the military will put down the natives like dogs and blame them for inciting the whole issue, not, in this case, that they'd be entirely incorrect.   

_Who willfully walks into a place full of people who hate them?_   

Several men break from the crowd and rush forward when the sound of hoof beats accompanied by a long, shrieking whinny pulls everyone's gaze briefly from the boys to the source of the sound.   

A small band of four natives ride at a break-neck pace directly up to the boys, slamming to a halt around them.  Unlike the boys, these men are older, dressed only in a pair of loose-fitting dark pants and dark boots, their upper bodies bare, covered in tattooed bands and symbols, the one in the center of all their chests an oddly iridescent ruby like Ninuk's.  Just as dressed up, the horses—the pterrippi, as it is—are uniquely costumed as well in silver plaited bridles, colorfully woven saddles, and two extra pieces: one that stretches from the saddle front and across the chest, a brilliant ruby color with a silver chest plate and spiral ornaments falling from it gracefully, beads and small amulets attached to the ends, and the other a similar piece coming off the back of the saddle and wrapping beneath the tail, a delicate golden and ruby netting thrown over the horse's behind.  Their broad wings are tucked tightly against their bodies and are the only thing not decorated.   

Two of the men leap smoothly from the backs of their mounts watching the boys impassively, hands on the sides of their pterippi, and I glimpse the decorated spears hidden just behind the feathery array of wing.  I swallow and notice the suddenly frightened boys do the same.  Apparently, they aren't supposed to be here and weren't counting on the Calvary to come and bring them home.   

My eyes follow theirs to the man at the front of the small band with an amethyst tattoo stretching from his chest across his shoulder to his back, long hair hanging free with an earring peeking out from the mop of dark hair.   

Ninuk.   

I've always found him intimidating, but these boys seem to find him terrifying.  They're practically quivering from fear.  _What the fuck?_   Ninuk just looks at them with the same expressionless mask he always wears during training, except this one is harder, austere, dead serious.  I'm surprised they're still standing; I would have split by now.   

Ninuk barks something at them harshly and from what little I've picked up of the language, I only recognize 'what' and 'here'.  It's easy enough to assume what he's asking since its the same thing I've been wondering since I saw them stroll through town.  One of them seems to have recovered some of his arrogance and stands taller, puffing out his chest and answering back brusquely and with confidence.  None of the warriors seem amused, and Ninuk looks in no mood to play games, snapping something back at him about the _lieru_.  The kid looks unimpressed; he scoffs and makes another comment tersely.  Beside him, his friends turn sheet white.  One of them snaps at him, looking furious and more than a little scared while the other says something to Ninuk, frantically shaking his head.   

Sneering, one of the warriors meets the eyes of his fellow, seeming amused and yet somehow simultaneously outraged.  Clearly this kid had pushed his luck and had the gall to say something extremely stupid.   

Dismounting gracefully, Ninuk strides across the street towards them.  All the bystanders are silent, waiting to see what will happen with anxiety and fear that they hadn't felt when the people they'd been going after had simply been teenaged boys.  These warriors are different, radiating power and control, unfamiliar and terrifying.  No one is willing to catch their attention no matter their personal feelings about the natives; I know Ninuk yet I'm afraid to even scratch my arm.   

Ninuk grasps the kid's chin in his hand while the kid glares back defiantly; he tries to yank back his head but Ninuk holds tight.  The boy's friends watch silently, and the warriors shake their head at the kid.  Ninuk murmurs to him, low and threatening, and the kid blanches abruptly at his words.  Ninuk asks him something twice.  The kid swallows hard, eyes scanning the crowd of faces watching the scene before looking back at Ninuk, lowering his eyes, and bowing his head in submission, " _Nept, skepi-lieru_."   

Releasing him abruptly, Ninuk rocks back on his heels and murmurs to him, kinder than previously, before whirling around and snapping out the words I've come to recognize as 'let's go'.  The two warriors on their feet swing themselves onto their horses' backs, and the three reach out and help boys up and into the saddles behind them.  Ninuk pulls himself onto Nierox, glancing around at the Eden citizens still watching and focuses on me; his lips quirk up in a tiny smile before disappearing.  I nod hello at him, and he inclines his head slightly, whirling Nierox around and riding off quickly with the rest of the band.

* * *

I duck as quickly as possible even though my whole body wants nothing more than to collapse on the carpet of grass underneath me.  I feel like I'm dripping sweat and have muscle melting off of me even though I know, logically, that's a bit melodramatic, "He's going to get himself killed."   

"Tyrire?" Ninuk asks as he swings at me with half of the speed I know he could.  I appreciate the attempt to even the field even if it doesn't really help.  He'll win anyway, and we both know that.   

"Is that who came wandering into Eden?"  I muse, backing as far from him as possible to avoid his kick.  It's not working.  I'm running out of energy and space.   

"That was the ring leader, so to speak, of the whole expedition," Ninuk nods, managing to slam an arm right into my chest, knocking the breath out of me.  I keep moving while Ninuk raises an eyebrow at me, "Keep your arms up and _watch me_."  I nod and don't say anything, dancing out of the way of another well aimed punch...at least he hasn't gone for his spear yet, "You are going to have to try offense sometime.  You cannot defend forever.  You will run out of energy long before your opponent."   

I glare at him, "I have no doubt you'll kick my ass, Ninuk.  Thanks."   

He smiles wickedly and laughs, "Tyrire is troublesome, to say the least.  He thinks himself a rebel, standing against the laws made by the _lieru_ for the protection of the tribe.  Tyrire's arguments have their merits, but he went about it the wrong way, blatantly breaking the law will solve nothing.  Move your feet, Ana."   

I curse as I nearly loose my footing from Ninuk's low kick aimed entirely to knock me off my feet.  _Well, fuck..._   Frowning, I try to move around another of Ninuk's attacks to no avail.  He's gaining ground, and I'm running out of energy, "What argument?  What's his issue?"   

Ninuk sighs, running a hand through his hair and easily ducking the one weak punch I attempt to throw at him; he laughs and smirks, throwing a punch back at me immediately, which I just barely manage to block, "Are you trying to make small talk?"   

"I'm trying to understand why someone from your tribe has a death wish.  Small talk is a) if I asked you about your family and b) not something you do when some crazy guy is throwing punches at your head," I inform him with a smile, ducking and prancing away from him as quickly as possible.     

Chuckling, Ninuk shakes his head, whirling around to face me, and I resist the urge to groan in annoyance and exasperation.  _Why can't I just have one moment's peace?_    

"I have a mother, a grandmother, and a sister.  And he does not have a death wish.  He just does not believe that your kind should take our land while we do nothing."    

"And you agree?"  I ask, my voice more of a breathy whisper since I have barely enough breath to think let alone talk.   

For a moment, Ninuk pauses and studies me before moving swiftly towards where I'm standing; I react out of pure instinct, trying to kick him just to get him the fuck away from me, narrowly managing to pull my foot back fast enough to keep him from grabbing and twisting it the way he seems to do often to prove some point.  I throw a punch at his face with all the force I can muster, and he grabs my arm, twisting it around my back.  Slamming my head back against his, I ignore the way my head spins as it makes contact, taking advantage of the slightest loosening of my wrist to yank it away from him.  My gaze shifts from him to Nierox a few feet away, and I make a split second decision, racing towards the pegasus who continues grazing, not the least perturbed.  I scoop up the spear and whirl around with it just as Ninuk reaches me.  I swing it at him like it's a baseball bat.   

Ninuk slides under it, leg shooting out to kick me.  I jump and bring down the point of the spear dangerously close to Ninuk's head, but he reacts quicker, grabbing the spear, yanking it from my hands, and using it to swipe my feet out from under me.  I drop heavily, landing on my back, and in a moment, he's crouched over me, keeping me immobile on the ground.  I glare at him, annoyed that I'd lost when I'd been so close to winning; it's ridiculously frustrating.  Smirking, Ninuk nods, leaning down to whisper in my ear, "See what happens when we use offense?"   

"I lose anyway?"  I inquire.   

His eyes meet mine, and he shrugs, amused, "Not as badly."  I exhale in annoyance while he tilts his head to the side, studying me a moment, "And yes, I do not think it is fair a bunch of—what do you call them?—aliens invade our home, and we are not even allowed to step foot on the land that is rightfully ours.  Would you find that fair?"  I'm silent, and Ninuk nods before continuing, "But brute force is not the answer.  Your people will retaliate with no mercy, regardless of who is right.  All Tyrire did was frighten people."   

"And fear leads to hate," I repeat his past words.   

"And you _are_ paying attention," he whispers.   

We fall silent then, the only sound being the low crash of the waterfall and the both of us trying to catch our breath.  I meet Ninuk's golden-eyed gaze, realizing the position we are still in before clearing my throat, awkwardly.  He smirks while my gaze locks on the golden pendant hanging from his neck, specks of opal, ruby, and amethyst decorating it.  I shift my gaze up from his strange, sharp tribal sunburst pendant to his amused eyes and flush, pushing him off me and getting to my feet.   

"What did he call you?  In the colony yesterday.  He said sk-skepy _lieru_?"   

Ninuk's eyes focus on me sharply as he leans back to lay his head against the ground, "You pay _too_ close attention, Ana."  I cross my arms over my chest and raise my eyebrows, "He called me what I am, Anastasia."   

"And what exactly are you, Ninuk?"   

" _Skepi_ means next," he says by way of answer.  

I piece it together quickly and take a deep breath, plopping down in an ungracious, cross-legged heap beside him, eyes drifting up to the small skylight above.   

_Skepi-lieru._   

Next chief or king or emperor or sultan or whatever.   

A part of me wants to ask him a million questions and the other part wants to run the fuck away from him as fast and as far as possible.  All I can think is that this tension between Eden and the Tstori isn't going to break without any kind of violence or bloodshed, and he's probably going to be at the head of the attempt to destroy my friends and family, both physically and metaphorically.  _What the hell am I doing?_   

I startle when a warm hand falls on my leg, squeezing my knee tenderly, and I look down into Ninuk's eyes.  "Relax, Anastasia," he says to me softly, "I can cut your tension with a knife.  This changes nothing, which is why I did not tell you."   

Sighing, I flick his hand until he flips it over and catches mine, lacing our fingers together.  I ignore the action.  He's wrong, anyway; it changes everything even as it puts his reasoning behind this experiment into a little more focus.   

"Why is the colony so decorated?"  Ninuk asks suddenly, and I look down at him.    

"Are _you_ trying to make small talk?"   

"I am trying to _distract_ you.  Now, speak."   

"Bossy," I grumble jokingly, my thoughts still troubled.   

Ninuk nudges me with our interlocked hands, "Anastasia."   

"Okay," I whine, "it's for Christmas.  This religious holiday...well, it was religious.  It's actually kind of this big commercial monstrosity now that has very little to do with the original biblical meaning, which brings out those annoying do-gooders who flood my Facebook and other various social media sights with all that 'Keep the Christ in Christmas' crap but—" I trail off when I notice him looking at me with clear confusion on his face; I smile shyly, "I'm not explaining this right, am I?"   

"No."  

I pull the end of my hair with my free hand and start again, "Christmas is a Christian holiday."  I start out slow.   

"Christian?"  Ninuk asks with a frown, "A religion?"   

"Yes, sort of," Ninuk's frown deepens at my vague non-answer, but I wave it off not in the mood to dive into Martin Luther, the Reformation, the corruption of the Catholic Church, the counter-Reformation, and King Henry VIII.  That's just _a lot_ for a description of Christmas; he can borrow my AP European history text if he really wants to know.    

"Anyway, Christmas is the birthday of the central religious figure of the Christian religion, Jesus Christ, who is supposedly the son of God, depending on who you ask," I glance over at Ninuk who is mulling this over but doesn't appear lost so I continue. "The original Christmas story is that his mother, the Virgin Mary," he raises his eyebrows, and I sigh, holding up a hand, "I know, okay.  Mary gets visited by this angel who says she's free of sin and asks if she'll have the son of God.  She says yes even though she's engaged to this guy named Joseph and could be stoned to death for premarital sex and getting knocked up, but she does it anyway.  All this shit happens where everyone is all shocked, and Joseph almost walks out on her because he thinks she's been a whore.  Then her old, supposedly barren cousin gets knocked up too by her husband because God intercedes, but it all turns out okay thanks to a whole slough of messenger angels and God.  Now, back to Christmas, Joseph marries Mary even though she's pregnant and hears there's gonna be a census back in his hometown of Bethlehem.  So even though Mary is so pregnant the baby could pop out at any moment, they go to Bethlehem.  Since its time for the census, there's no room for them at any of the inns so they go to sleep in a stable and that's where Jesus is born.  Angels sing and a star appears in the sky to let people know the savior has been born, and people come from all over to visit him even the three kings from Asia just to bring him gifts.  And _that's_ the original Christmas."   

Ninuk is silent for a minute.  I feel like I'm in a Charlie Brown Christmas trying to explain the real spirit of Christmas to a bunch of naïve, materialistic elementary school kids, though Ninuk's explanation was way more eloquent, if I do say so myself.  Slowly, Ninuk nods, "Originally?  But from your rant I assume it is not quite the same anymore."   

Scoffing, I shake my head, twirling my hair around my finger absently, "Not exactly.  It got kind of skewed a few hundred years afterward when this guy named Nicholas just tried to do a good deed—never mind the fact that he was breaking and entering—and leave some money for his neighbors so their eldest daughter had a dowry and could be married.  It started a tradition where St. Nick left gifts for children on Christmas.  St. Nick turned into Chris Kringle and later Santa Claus who lives in the North Pole in a toy factory with elves and flying reindeer delivering gifts to good little boys and girls on Christmas Eve."  I roll my eyes well aware of Ninuk's gaze locked on me.  Shaking my head at my own thoughts and feeling a lot like a Scrooge, I try to drop the subject, albeit somewhat tactlessly, "It's not that I don't love Christmas, who doesn't?  I just...it's just become more of a commercial holiday than anything else.  It's not even about the Santa myth or Jesus or whatever; it's just that it's all about buying shit for most people."   

"What is it to _you_?"   

The question takes me by surprise, and I frown as I think back to all the Christmases with my family, good and bad.  Letting out a small laugh, I let my head fall back as my eyes focus on the small natural skylight above.  "My brother and I have all these Christmas traditions, not with Mom and Dad so much.  Dad was always more focused on work, only stopping in on Christmas Day to watch us open presents.  Mom was around but Pollux and I just are really good at making our own memories.  We watch the 25 Days of Christmas on ABC religiously no matter what cheesy movie or far stretch it is to be considered 'Christmas-y'.  Starting the week before Christmas, we break out the cookie recipes of Grandma's, and, between the two of us and mom, we manage to make them all.     

"Once we get the tree put up, Mom puts on the lights while Pollux and I spend the whole day putting up decorations while watching these Christmas movie marathons on Lifetime, listening to Christmas carols, and eating whatever junk food is in the house.  Jacie does it too now that she's older, and when she get tired of putting up decorations she stands on the coffee table and plays an air guitar whether the Christmas carol on the radio is fast or slow," I say, laughing at the memories of Jacie in Christmas sweaters, leggings, and tutus doing air guitar to Jingle Bell Rock and Blue Christmas.  I sigh, dejected, "It won't be the same here.  No real Christmas trees.  Half of our decorations and lights are still in Niagara, and Grandma and Grandpa won't randomly drop in with gyros, spanekopita, and baklava since Mom's a lazy cook.  Just me and my family literally alone on an alien planet."   

"You have your brother and your sister, what else do you need?"   

Groaning, I get up swiftly, yanking my hand from his and shaking my head, "I need cable and grocery stores and a decent book shop and a library and cars that don't have semi-automatics hidden inside and to not have to swallow down vitamins on top of vitamins every damn day.  I need Grandma and Grandpa and their weird Greco-American cuisine and Pooka their asinine Siberian Husky that eats grass by the bucket load and drinks toilet water.  I need to not feel like a fish so far out of water that I'm baking in the desert without the goddamned frying pan, and that's exactly what I am!"   

"That is not what you are," Ninuk rebukes, getting to his feet nimbly and walking over to me, "I think you are being just a tad bit melodramatic."   

"You think so?" I snap at him, crossing my arms over my chest.   

Ninuk smiles cheekily and nods, "I do.  If you were really 'baking in the desert' then you would be terrified of everything and anything, carrying weapons for potential danger and ready to tear down everything about this land for your purpose _and_ for your peace of mind.  But you are not."    

"Don't lie to me," I shake my head.   

"I never said you were swimming, just that you are not quite sinking."   

"Lovely, I'm treading water...I've never been very good at that," I admit, scowling.   

"Treading water or adapting?"   

"Treading water," I smile at him softly, shaking my head at how easily he talked me down from my freak out; I take a deep breath and meet his gaze squarely, "I think I can I adapt.  I'm just not sure I want to."   

"I will help you," Ninuk offers, taking my hand in his again and holding it up between us.  "By spring you should be decent."   

"I'll be a model pupil by spring, because I am amazing," I joke.  We remain quiet for a moment until our eyes meet, and we both break out into laughter.  A strange feeling of warmth blossoms in my stomach before seeming to expand to fill me entirely.  The air around me seems to hum as my hand grows oddly warm; I flip it over in Ninuk's, holding it up between us to see a small speck of light rise from the center of my burning palm.   

My laughter dries as I stare at the bubble of light in horror before looking at Ninuk who seems surprised but delighted, his eyes not focused on my palm but around us.  Cautiously and more than a little unsure, my gaze shifts from the small sphere of light to the air around us fill of thousands of little replica orbs floating in the air and hovering all around the canyon.  Even Nierox seems incredulous, poking his muzzle at them just to have them dance away from him.  He exhales in annoyance and stomps his hoof.  I look back at Ninuk.   

"You did it."   

Panic rises into my throat, and I rip my hand away with a strangled cry, tucking it to my chest like its dangerous, "I've got to go."   

Ninuk frowns, "Ana, relax."  I shake my head, moving around him when he catches my arm.  I flinch, and he lets go abruptly, looking at me in shock before his face goes blank, "We will bring you up."   

"No," I snap before my gaze softens on him, panic still rising in me and threatening to choke me.  _What have I done?_   "I can't, Ninuk, I just can't."  And then I run up the stairs and out of the canyon.     

I don't stop running.


	8. Chapter Eight

A crash startles me from sleep.   

Half-awake, I lift my head from the pillow, peering around the dark interior of my bedroom for the source of the sound, but it was a stupid idea since its too dark to see anything anyway.  Beside me, stealing a good three-fourths of the pillow, Demetri pokes his head up, looking around as well, shimmering eyes narrowing on the corner of the room by my dresser before he shakes it off and curls back into a ball, ready to go back to bed.  Rolling my eyes at his tough guy routine, I follow his lead, dropping my head against the pillow just when the sound of something rolling reaches my ears unmistakably.   

I tense and glance at Demetri who is wide awake, watching.   

More than a little terrified, I sit up and lean across Demetri for the flashlight Mom insists we all put somewhere accessible in case of emergency—I'll have to thank her in the morning.  With shaking hands, I flip on the light, scanning it methodically over the wooden floor and looking for anything that could be making the sound.  For some reason, my mind flits to roly-polies, armadillos, and dung beetles...just the mutant alien planet kind.  However, I don't find some strange insect, mammal, or beetle; instead, the only thing out of place and round enough to roll is the charred pearly rock I found in the forest weeks ago.    

Releasing a breath of relief, I let myself relax and rest my back against the wall.  It was probably just Lily walking around on my cabinet and knocking shit over again.  At least, that seems like a reasonable assumption until I hear Demetri snarling, claws popping out as he lowers himself into a menacing crouch, the fur on his back and tail puffing up.  My blood freezes in my veins as I slowly move the flashlight's beam of light back to the rock just in time to see it pulse like its alive before rolling of its own violation in lazy spirals across the floor.  My mouth drops open, and I vault over the side of the bed, dashing out the door and down the hall to Pollux's room.   

I slap him awake frantically, not pausing in my assault till his eyes are partially open, glaring at me angrily, "Oh my fucking..."   

"Lux, something's wrong."   

Pollux sighs in exasperation but allows me to grab his hand and pull him from the bed, leading him down the hallway towards my bedroom and slamming the door tight and secure behind us.  I flip on a lamp to see that Lily has joined Demetri; both cats crouch on the floor, staring at the rock like its a cobra waiting to strike.   

Pollux looks between all of us skeptically before shaking his head at me tiredly, "Seriously, Ana?  The cats are freaking over an alien rock, and you thought it was necessary to wake me up at one in the morning on Christmas?"   

"Pollux, I swear, it's fucking alive!  It _moved_ by _itself_!"   

Pollux scoffs, "Really, Ana, I—"   

The sound of a piercing crack fills the room, and we both turn our attention to the rock lying on the floor.  Lily hisses and backs away from it, ears pressed back against her head.  Pollux and I share a glance and approach the rock slowly, pieces of the black char flake off and  reveal a hairline fracture in the rock's pearly exterior.  My heart pounds wildly in my chest as I shine the flashlight on it, and we hold our breath for a moment like maybe we're wrong.  Maybe it's just a dream.  Maybe my rock isn't alive.  Something slams against it from within, turning the hairline fracture into a web of cracks, and we jump back with strangled screams.   

"What the fuck?"  I blurt out.   

"What did you bring in the house?"  Pollux shouts at me reproachfully, though I can see the fear lurking in the back of his eyes.   

Looking between the 'rock' and my brother, I resist the urge to cry and say in a deflated voice, "A rock?"   

"Rocks don't _hatch_ , Anastasia!"  Pollux snaps, and I look down at my feet, feeling more than a little chastised by my brother.  He sighs and wraps his arm around my shoulders, trying to feign some kind of relaxation with the situation...good luck with that one, " _Anastasia_!"   

My gaze shifts to the rock—egg—that the cats are watching like it's a hostile, predatory... _something_ , their full and complete attention focused utterly on the object in front of them, claws out, teeth bared, and muscles coiled ready to spring.  With one more crack, pieces of rock shatter outwards, arching into the air and flying in all directions.  The cats hiss, pressing lower to the ground while Pollux and I jerk back in alarm.  We stare at it cautiously and wait to see what will happen, if something with a million teeth and a dozen beady eyes will leap from the inside and go straight for the jugular like some horror movie monster.  Standing side-by-side, Pollux lets his arm drop from around my shoulders to hold my hand, attention locked on the rock.   

There is nothing for a moment but the strictest silence before there is a keen wail as a tiny, scaly creature covered in some type of goo flails, struggling to climb out.  It falls numerous times before fully getting itself out, then tumbling from its stance at the top of the rock and down to the floor as the egg shifts underneath the creature's legs.  It squeals desperately, unhappily, as it lays sprawled in an ungracious heap where it fell, and I resist the urge to giggle as it snorts, annoyed and pissed off at its predicament.   

As quickly as the feeling of amusement comes, it passes, and I look at Pollux wide-eyed.  He asks exactly what I'm thinking, "What the hell is it?"   

"M-maybe it's just a lizard," I answer skeptically, eyeing the creature as it tries to stand again on shaky legs.  It seems oblivious to our cats that still gaze at it, deciding whether or not to attack, though Lily seems more than ready to pounce if it even looks at her wrong.   

Scoffing, Pollux gives me a disbelieving look, "And a chupacabra is just a dog with fangs."   

I shoot him a glare before turning my gaze to the creature, "Fuck you, Pollux.  What the fuck else could it be?"   

"Don't be a bitch; have you ever seen a lizard that big?"  Pollux snaps.   

"Komodo dragons, monitor lizards, even fucking iguanas!"   

"It's not a lizard!"  He hisses at me, and I slap his arm as hard as I possibly can.   

We both freeze when the creature perks his head up at the sound and focuses his attention towards us.  For a moment, the creature begins to swivel its head our way, and we both hold our breath.  Just before it looks at us, Demetri reaches out a paw to touch it, and the creature whips it's head around to level the cat with a hard look that halts the unsettled feline in his tracks.   

"Did you ever think it might be a dragon?"   

Laughing quietly out of sheer disbelief, I run a shaking hand through my messy hair, "Are you serious?  Firstly, no wings.  Secondly, no fire.  Are you insane?"   

"Scientists and historians think that tales about dragons were just exaggerated myths of large lizards."   

"It's not _that_ big, Lux.  It's dwarfed by a fucking iguana!"   

"At birth!  And it's gonna get bigger, Ana.  And, no, I'm not insane.  Mom has seen documented proof of pegasus, unicorns, chupacabras, basilisks, and, yes, dragons!  Is it really so insane to assume _this_ is a dragon?"   

I narrow my eyes and look away, unwilling to argue with him when he makes such a valid point.  Glancing over at him, I see Pollux nodding at me with an 'I told you so' look spread across his face, making me scowl at him.  Shifting my eyes to the reptile, I see it has finally found secure footing, not unlike the cats who are carefully waving their paws at it threateningly. The creature squeals, ducking its head when Lily smacks it, and I move towards them until Pollux catches my arm, "Don't _touch_ it.  It might pull some weird Saphira bullshit and bind you to it."   

Rolling my eyes at him, I brush off his words, "Seriously, Lux?  This is our _life_ , not the spin-off book of _Eragon."_    

"Our life consists of us living in an international colony funded by a research corporation that is, in turn, funded by several government organizations because we live in a destroyed, disease ridden, politically, socially, and economically unstable society of shifting allegiances, career politicians, and ignorance.  Said colony is on an alien planet—that it took two months to reach even in some _Star Trek_ reminiscent space shuttle that can jump to hyper-speed—beside a group of feared and hated natives we know nothing about who tattoo and pierce themselves to show status and strength, worship pagan gods, and have warriors that ride pegasus.  I'm sorry for thinking some weird ass shit like that could happen, Ana!  But I'm a little overwhelmed, if you don't mind!"  Pollux is practically fuming by the time his rant comes to an end, and I sigh.     

"I'm sorry, Lux."   

It's past time for Pollux to have a break down about Aurora.  These not-so-random break downs are ridiculously common for colony newcomers, and Pollux skipped his months ago, feeling like he had no reason to freak.  'It's just another place,' he'd said.  So, I don't correct him about the religion or the correct name for pegasus (according to the Tstori); I just squeeze his hand and give him a soft smile before saying; "Even so, I think you're being a little overdramatic about this."  He laughs a little, elbowing me in the side, and I offer him a half-smile before looking back down at the creature, "What are we gonna do with it?"   

"Get rid of it," Pollux says decisively, and, though I know he doesn't mean by offing it in the lake or something, I still look at him sharply.  He meets my gaze head-on and shrugs, "It's dangerous."   

"It's a baby," I argue.   

"It's a wild animal," he retorts calmly.  "I mean, look at it's teeth.  I know they look small but they're pointed and sharp.  He's not some harmless little herbivore that you can feed lettuce and carrots to like it's a freaking rabbit.  It's a wild animal that eats meat, Anastasia.  We can't keep it here with Jacie and the cats.  They're our family, and this could hurt them."   

I sigh, seeing the logic behind his arguments as I turn to study the reptile, who's watching the two cats with the same wary fascination that they find with him.  A part of me doesn't want to let it go, though I'm not sure why.  I glance over at Pollux and an idea hits me.   

I fight a smile, "I know it's a wild animal, okay?  And I know we can't keep it here forever.  But, Lux, we don't even know what it is.  We don't know if breathes fire or is gonna grow wings or wants to eat our cats; don't you want to know?  If we take it to Mom, we'll never know.  The scientists will take it, lock it up in a box in wherever their facility is hidden, and it will never be spoken of again, and if we let it go it may not even survive into adulthood.  This is our chance to learn something about Aurora that isn't being chosen, written, and dictated by scientists and soldiers."   

The argument lights a spark in the back of Pollux's eyes, and I can see him waging an internal struggle about what to do, where to take this.  Part of him—a huge part—wants to agree with me, wants to throw caution to the wind and watch this thing grow into something since he's _always_ complaining about how little we know and are told about this world, and how—since it's written by the same people who discover it and are, essentially, in charge of us, our lives, and our educations—what we _do_ know is probably colored in bias.  However, he wants to follow the rules and keep us safe, and having an unpredictable, unknown animal roaming the house certainly isn't conducive to that.  Sighing, he runs a hand over his face and frowns at me, shaking his head, "What are you thinking, Anastasia?"   

"I'm thinking that we keep it around until we know more about it and get rid of it when we know what we need to; when it's grown up enough that I don't feel like I'm tossing it to its death by letting it free," I argue meekly.  

Pollux studies me in silence for a moment, "It can't stay here forever."   

"It won't," I promise.   

"And if it threatens anyone—feline or human—it's gone."   

"I swear."   

"Don't get attached, Ana," he warns me, shaking his head at me.  "This isn't forever."   

"I'm not."   

"They are," Pollux points at the cats, and I glance over my shoulder to find a whole shift in scene.  Instead of the same wary, hostile standoff, they've all relaxed, the creature lays across the floor with its eyes half-closed while Lily and Demetri clean him.  I frown, tilting my head at, arguably, the strangest scene I've ever encountered.   

"I don't say anything about you running around with natives on the weekends—" I whirl around sharply, staring at him in shock "—because it only hurts you if you get caught.  But this is different.  _This_ is dangerous.  That thing isn't like a dog or a cat or a bird.  It's wild."   

"How do you know about Ninuk?"   

Pollux snorts and rolls his eyes, "Please, Ana.  When you knew I was skipping classes to make out with Nick in the gym storage closets, what did you say?"   

Laughing slightly, I roll my eyes and nod my head in understanding, "'Cuz I'm your twin."   

"Exactly, I'm not gonna say anything because I trust you to be careful; besides, if those wicked bruises and the fact that you conk out around eight every day means that he's training you to fight the way Dad promised, then I'm all for it!"  Pollux grins, and we turn our attention to the cats and creature curling up together on one of my massive floor pillows.  We share a glance, and Pollux blinks at me carefully, "You sleeping with me tonight?"   

I glance back at the weird scene, meeting the creature's bright emerald-topaz eyes that are staring at me, peering into my soul like it knows me.  Tearing my eyes away, I look back at Pollux and nod, fighting a shudder, "Let's go."

* * *

"WAKE UP!  WAKE UP!  WAKE UP!  IT'S CHRISTMAS!"  I hear a high-pitched feminine voice shouting at me while jumping up and down.   

Groaning, I put my hand up, and Pollux shifts his leg, knocking Jace down onto her butt to keep her from jumping on the bed, "Ugh, I'm up.  Jesus, what time is it?"   

"Like six thirty or something," Jace says, nonchalant.   

Pollux lets loose a loud, angry groan, meeting my eyes with the same red-eyed, sleepy gaze and shaking his head at Jace.  I laugh, "Six-thirty or something?  Jacie!  I know it's Christmas, but come on child, sleep!"   

"No!  Get up!"  Jace whines, giggling.   

"Tell the mean girl to go away, Anastasia," Pollux says to me, pouting and burying his head in my arm, his long, wild hair spilling over my face.   

Coughing, I spit out his hair, pushing it out of my face while Pollux laughs silently; I scowl down at him, shoving him hard and laughing with Jace as he falls out of the bed and onto the floor, "Is he up now, Jacie?"   

Jace giggles and peers over the bed to get a better look at him, "I think so.  Maybe you should pour water on him to make sure."   

"Hmm..." I muse, meeting her eyes, "I was thinking soda, but we can do water."   

"You're both evil," Pollux hisses at us jokingly, hopping up off the floor and scooping Jace up and over his shoulder as he goes.  "Off we go.  If we're up then we're gonna be up, by golly!"   

"'By golly,'" Jace and I repeat, looking at each other with raised eyebrows.   

"Get up, Ana!"  Pollux snaps at me.   

"I'm up, Lux!"  I reply, sticking out my tongue and climbing out of his bed, wrapping the duvet around me like a cape.  Jace laughs while Pollux rolls his eyes and shoots me the finger for messing up his bed.  Giving him a cheeky smile, I brush past them, "I'm gonna grab my cell; I'll meet you downstairs, yep?"  Jace smiles widely and nods.   

Pollux kisses me on the cheek, "Sure thing, sweetie.  Bring me your Snuggie, please, and let the cats out for breakfast."   

"Yeah, yeah," I reply, flitting out of the room and down the hall while Jace and Pollux head downstairs.   

Cracking open the door, I peer around the room looking for any sign of the creature, but all I see are the two cats who dart out the door as soon as I move my legs out of the way.  Cautiously, I squeeze through the slit in the doorway, closing the door softly behind me and walking across the room to my bed, keeping an eye out.  Reaching over, I grab my phone and tablet quickly, whirling around to exit when I hear a low, soft growl, not threatening but more of an attention grab to let me know that it's here and hasn't gone anywhere.   

Sitting on my window seat, watching me, is the creature, and, for the first time, I can see it fairly clearly even though the shades are closed.  The lizard-like animal is about the size of an iguana and bone-white with dark stripes with a pointed but feline shaped face, eyes that are a unique combination of emerald and topaz and adjust the same way cat eyes do.  It has a long tail with a dark bulge at the end and a pair of tiny ears at the top of its head; there are small bulges on its shoulder blades.  Intelligence lurks in the back of its eyes, and it squawks at me meaningfully, turning around to tug on the curtain.   

Surprised, I put the tablet and cell down, crossing the room slowly and stopping just in front the creature, taking a deep breath of uncertainty as I meet its eyes.  The creature stares back at me before yawning like I'm taking way too long, and it doesn't have all day.  "Freaking animals always thinking they're the freaking boss," I mumble, reaching across to open the drapes and let the early morning sun shine into the room.  It looks up at me, humming gratefully before pressing its head against my arm kindly for just a moment until it curls into a ball to sleep in the sunlight.   

"ANASTASIA MIKOS, LET'S GO!"  I hear Jace shout up the stairs after me.   

Whirling around, I lift my electronics up, glancing back at the creature who's peeking at me with one eye.  It blinks at me lazily, and I whirl around and take off out of the room, scooping up my Snuggie, and slamming the door behind me.   

Downstairs, Mom is already up, flipping crepes in the kitchen and dropping them on the bar in stacks while Dad sits at the counter already in uniform, playing with a camera like he's never used one before.  Mom meets my eyes and rolls hers at Dad, and I giggle.  Jace sits on floor in front of the tree and piles of presents practically bouncing off the ground in excitement, and Pollux watches her in amusement, sprawled across the couch in his Christmas Story pajamas watching White Christmas and mouthing the words to the movie.  I stifle laughter, setting down my phone on the coffee table and tossing Pollux the Snuggie before grabbing my camera bag from its hook and putting it together swiftly.  I swipe a Nutella crepe off the counter with a grateful smile at Mom and drop my ass on top of Pollux who groans and shifts but doesn't really move.  Jace looks from Mom to me, hands hovering over the gifts like a kid with her hand in the cookie jar.   

"Now?"   

Mom laughs, coming from kitchen and placing the crepes on the coffee table, "Now."   

Jace tears into her presents with wild abandon, tossing the hot pink wrapping paper all around the room, 'ooh'ing and 'ahh'ing at her presents while the rest of us alternate between eating and taking pictures.  Mom shuts off the television as soon as White Christmas comes to an end, much to Pollux's chagrin, and flips on a radio station full of Christmas carols that we waste no time in singing along to, dancing around the living room, and screaming the lyrics like we're in a demented Christmas rock video.  Jace uses her new video camera to shoot us while Mom laughs, eventually prying the camera from her fingers so she can come and join us.  Dad sits stoically on his barstool a little ways away looking uncomfortable and more than a little lost; he obviously wanted a quiet Christmas.   

Forty minutes later, Pollux and I are sitting side by side between the Christmas tree and a sea of hot pink, Hello Kitty Christmas wrapping paper opening presents while Jace sings along to We Wish You A Merry Christmas, fiddling with her new laptop-tablet hybrid.  Mom has my camera and is still taking pictures but less so than she had with Jace who loves being in front of the camera; Pollux and I...well, to put it simply...don't.   

"What the fuck is figgy pudding, and why do they want some so bad?"  Pollux asks me, and I giggle, ducking my head when I see Mom giving him the stink-eye.   

"Pollux, language, please," Mom says in exasperation while Pollux holds his hands up in innocence.   

"Thanks a lot for the warning, twin," Pollux whispers in my ear, lobbing a ball of wrapping paper at the side of my head.   

"Figgy pudding is a spice cake that used to be eaten by British sailors," I inform him proudly while Pollux looks at me in disbelief.  Chuckling, I shrug, "Do you actually _read_ the Christmas trivia cards when we play with Jace?"   

"Please, Ana, don't insult me by asking that question," he holds a hand up and shakes his head dramatically; I respond by chucking a ball of paper at him, holding my hands up in triumph when it hits him in the center of the forehead.  Pollux looks up slowly, meets my eyes and mouths 'bitch.'  I roll my eyes.   

"Language, Pollux Mikos," Mom hisses at him.   

Pollux gives Mom a harassed look, "Dude, I didn't even say it!"   

"Don't think it then," Mom shrugs.   

"What are you now?  Some kind of Merry Christmas Thought Police?"   

"Umm-hmm," Mom tells him.   

"Come at me bro!"   

"I don't know who you think you're talking to."   

"I'm sorry, Mommy," he cowers, holding up a wall of wrapping paper in front of him for protection while Mom snorts.  "I'm too young and pretty to die!  I still have a lot to contribute to the world!"   

I laugh along with Mom and Jace and raise my eyebrows at Pollux, "Yeah, herpes and copious amount of sperm."   

"Well..." He shrugs jokingly while I start laughing again along with Mom who, surprisingly, doesn't even say anything about the joke being raunchy or inappropriate for Jace's sake, though we all know she hears worse things at school from her horny little fifth grade classmates.   

_Kids these days._

Right in the middle of our laughter, a loud, shrill alarm bell pierces the air.  We all cover our ears at the sound before realizing what it means; I share a glance with Pollux who looks nervous.  My gaze shifts to my mother who has a stoic, determined look in her eye as she turns to our father for information as his phone goes off right on cue.  He lifts it from the counter and reads it swiftly, his face hardens, and he gets up and stuffs his phone in his pocket.  Ignoring us, he strides across the room to the back door, unlocking the slim lock box on the floor and opening it, pulling out and loading a handgun before putting it in its holster and taking out two serrated knives, stuffing one in his pocket and the other in his boot.   

"What happened?" Mom asks, exasperated, as he pulls on his jacket.   

"Stay here," he says by way of explanation.   

Mom's face hardens as she gets up and crosses her arms over her chest, glaring at Dad angrily, "What happened, Galen?"  It isn't really a question, it's a demand.   

Dad glances back at her impassively, "You just stay here, and don't turn on the news.  I'll tell you when I get back."   

He disappears out the door, slamming it behind him, and the four of us all stand in silence while we listen to Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas play in the background to the sound of his car peeling out of the driveway.   

"Turn on the news," Mom says to no one in particular the moment the sound of his car fades.  I turn to look at her in alarm, mirroring my siblings.  Mom's face is hard full of determination and strength I haven't seen since we moved here; she's had enough.   

"But Dad said—" Pollux begins uncertainly.   

"I don't care what Galen said.  Turn it on," she orders.   

Jace reacts first, marching over to the television and flipping to the local channel quickly.  Mom crosses her arms and narrows her eyes on the screen while Pollux, Jace, and I sit down on the couch, eyes glued to the images.  The same bullshit that always plays is discussing weather patterns and productivity reports when it flickers suddenly, changing to the image of our resident reporter, Holly Perimeni.   

"Holly Perimeni reporting live from the scene of what is being decided is a major debacle.  Not three hours ago while most households were waking to unwrap Christmas gifts or sleeping in their beds.  Three teenagers ranging ages fifteen to seventeen snuck out of their homes and drove four-wheelers to the local Tstori Reservation.  As for what actually happened in the reservation is unclear at this point, it has only been noted that they were found shaken, scratched, and bruised after being dropped off at the edge of Eden by unidentified riders assumed to be natives nearly twenty minutes ago."    

Pollux and I meet gazes both thinking the same thing:   

_Oh fuck._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just need a minute because I pride myself on writing strong female characters who stand beside their menfolk on equal footing whether it be intellectually or physically or both...and now I'm listening to Cater 2 U by Destiny's Child and listening to even moderate feminism being tossed out the window. Good thing it has a good beat.


	9. Chapter Nine

In the wake of Dean Montgomery, Aidan O'Brian, and Nick Ashford trespassing into native territory and coming back with 'battle scars' to prove it, came a wave of xenophobic sentiment that made the former hostilities look positively loving in comparison.  In two weeks, people went from being wary and bristly about their endemic neighbors to being downright hateful.  Propaganda went up all across town of anti-native beliefs, posters and signs depicting them as ruthless, bestial, unhygienic savages that were unintelligent and incurably ignorant.  Cartoons and comic books subtly displayed natives as mindless war mongers that needed to be put down and taken care of.  But otherwise, life goes on as normal, with one notable exception.   

"They're all in council," Pollux announces.   

"What?"  I ask him in pure, unadulterated confusion.  I so hate when he starts off conversation in the middle as if we've actually already had the beginning and he hadn't just arrived.  A lone noodle falls to the ground from my mishandled chopsticks, and I sigh, dropping them into the aluminum container with a mournful look at my lunch, "Who's in what council?"   

"Speak English!"  Quinn admonishes from a few feet ahead where he and Xochitl are walking together, his arm slung around her shoulders lazily.   

"Who was talking to you?"  Pollux shouts back, rolling his eyes before looking at me, "Right, yes, the council.  Well, they aren't actually _in_ council but—"   

"We still don't know what you're talking about," Xochitl points out, looking over her shoulder at Pollux.   

He rolls his eyes and heaves an exaggerated sigh, and I stifle laughter, " _Fine_ ," he draws out the word into nearly twenty syllables.  I shake my head at his dramatics, elbowing him in the side.  He flips me off and tries again, "You remember all that shit that went down on Christmas Day with Aidan, Dean, and Nick?"  Pollux tries not to stumble over Nick's name, and we all pretend not to notice because we're just _that good_ of friends.   

"Of course!  It was two weeks ago not like seven years," Nicci snaps at him.   

Pollux glares at her sarcastically, "Again, who was talking to you, bitch?"   

"Ruined my Christmas," Angela shakes her head and rolls her eyes.  "Mom had to split so it was just me and my presents alone in the house with my cat and a cooking chicken.  I burnt it."   

I snicker at her while she smiles, shaking her head.  Between bouts of laughter, everyone mutters their assent to her comment; that's what happens when you live in a colony created for exploration and scientific discovery, you end up with a large majority (and by 'large majority', I mean _everybody_ ) who has at least one parent that had to be called out during the emergency.  It had spoiled a good portion of Christmases and had garnered the three boys more than a few dirty looks from their classmates.  Adults might be sympathetic, but children were not.  Be they Jewish, Muslim, atheist, or Christian, celebrating nothing and anything, people had been spending time with their families during the holiday since most people had gotten off save for a handful of guards that rotated every three hours instead of the usual 'every hour, on the hour'.  Three stupid, curious boys had screwed it up.   

"Right," Pollux shifts uncomfortably, and I shoot him a sympathetic look, understanding the discomfort.  At first, he'd been just as upset, but the day had continued when Mom had shut off the television and ordered us to finish opening our presents before herding us all into the kitchen to help her make lunch and prepare Christmas dinner while she blared Christmas carols from Pandora Radio.  We'd laughed and danced and sung and tossed flour at each other while we made cupcakes and cookies for some of the neighbors.  Without the black cloud that was our father hovering over us, we'd actually had a good time, and Pollux hadn't felt like someone was grilling him all day long.  It had made for a more relaxed Pollux than I'd been expecting.   

"Anyway, the Ashfords and the Nicholls want to retaliate against the natives or, at least, force them to either assimilate or leave, including extending our laws over them so shit like this can't happen, let alone go unpunished."   

"Why are the Nicholls involved?"  Angela asks, confused.   

Pollux's jaw tightens, and I clear my throat, "Julianne's dating Nick, remember?"   

"Rich people are always in it together," Nicci adds, shaking her head at the state of society.   

I point my finger at her, "Knock it off or go write your socialist manifesto.  There's nothing wrong with being rich."   

"Nope, there's just something wrong with being an Ashford...or a Nicholls.  Those families put the 'title' in 'entitled,'" Quinn shakes his head while Pollux and I share a confused glance.  Xochitl pauses and looks at her boyfriend strangely while Nicci and Angela just try to stifle their giggles.  Quinn purses his lips and flips his long black hair out of his eyes, "That didn't make any sense, did it?"   

Pollux cuts him off, blatantly annoyed by all the interruptions, and everyone looks down at the ground or away, dutifully chastised, " _Any.  Way._   The mayor and the council haven't taken any official course of action, and the military can't respond without orders.  So, the Nicholls and the Ashfords are officially petitioning the council for some kind of response to the actions of the natives, and, obviously, the military is backing them."   

Shaking my head, I cross my arms over my chest and drop my spoiled Chinese food into a trash can, "They're petitioning Mayor Newlin and the rest for permission to begin the first steps of genocide over a nation that has lived here longer than we even knew this place existed?"   

"Not genocide," Angela remarks.   

"It will be.  We'll be right back to the violation of basic human rights with no one to advocate for them," I respond tightly.   

"They attacked Dean, Aidan, and Nick.  I mean, I know they were stupid, but they didn't deserve that," Nicci points out.   

"Pssh," Xochitl scoffs, "they were _drunk_.  All we know is that they went to the reservation and were brought back.  _They_ don't even know what happened."   

"Exactly, besides, we almost start a riot when three natives walk down our street and they do nothing, but, yet, three dumbass, drunk ass boys wander into their reservation, they extract them _and_ bring them back and we want to _retaliate_?"  I question.   

"Well we don't know what happened!  They came back bruised up and completely shaken, unable or unwilling to talk, and it's not like we can get the natives to sit down and tell us!  And even if they _would_ , they can't speak English anyway!"  Quinn argues.   

I bite my tongue and don't say a word, even when Pollux shoots me a pointed glance that tells me that he knows that I know differently.  Arguing points I shouldn't know will only invite questions I can't tolerate, and despite the fact that I've avoided seeing Ninuk for two weeks doesn't mean I'm up to betraying that particular secret.  He's still a friend even if I'm too chickenshit to face up to my own fears and see him, ask him for help figuring this out.   

"We can't prove it was them!  And those boys have no reason to say it wasn't the natives," Xochitl says, her own sense of national identity to her own mistreated Aztec ancestors rising to the surface of this particular argument.   

"We can't prove it wasn't," Angela replies.   

"And the threat bodily harm is usually a strong motivator to keep quiet," Nicci adds.   

Pollux raises an eyebrow, "I thought they can't speak English."   

"'I will kill you' is a pretty universally understood sign."   

Pursing my lips, I frown at her while she just shrugs.  I shake my head, "They were probably just as high as flying monkeys, and anyway, I seriously doubt the natives would waste their breath threatening three teenage boys.  All this situation is, is a total replay of the land jealousy, fear, and prejudice that we have against them, finding an outlet and cause for a movement.  Newlin made the right call by not responding and forcing him to action will do nothing but stir up trouble and possibly even a war.  I didn't sign up for that shit."    

"Be real, Ana, none of us signed up for any of this," Pollux comments tartly, and I glance at him sharply.   

We pause together at the end of the street, and Xochitl and Quinn say goodbye, heading to the cafe for their coffee date, while Nicci and Angela do the same, turning to our po-dunk town theater to meet Santiago.  Pollux and I wave goodbye before continuing to walk.  He clears his throat, "Where are we going?"   

I shrug, "Just walking."   

Together, we walk on in an awkward silence; the air heavy with things unsaid between the two of us.  It's unusual but not unheard of.  I can feel him glance over at me, deciding whether or not to break the tension that I'm far more comfortable ignoring, "The creature's growing like a weed."   

It's not a particularly astute observation; in two weeks, the small animal (who I've secretly named Xerxes) has grown from the size of an iguana to the size of a large Komodo dragon with wicked long, retractable onyx claws and small, bony wings that are growing quicker than the animal itself.  Still no fire breathing, though, so we've refrained from actually labeling it a 'dragon', though more to keep one last thread of sanity and normalcy in a world that is far from normal.    

I nod, "Who told you about the mayor and the council?"   

Pollux is silent, and I remain silent with him, lips tight and eyebrows raised, ready to snap at him if he confirms my suspicions.  He sighs and runs a hand through his hair, "Nick."  My head whips around, and he holds up a hand, "Don't even say it, Ana."  I seethe, pissed that he keeps running back and playing nice with a boy who consistently breaks his heart without the slightest care in the world.  Shaking my head angrily, Pollux glares at me, "And what about you, huh?  You could find out what happened.  Why haven't you?"   

Swallowing hard, I shake my head, crossing my arms over my chest defensively and glaring into the forest looming ahead, "I can't."   

"Why not?"   

"I just can't. And even if I could who would believe me?  And if they did believe what would happen?  Half of this colony would consider me a traitor and the other half would see me as a profitable means to an end to crank out info, Lux."  He opens his mouth to argue, but I wave him off, stalking forward in an angry, long-legged stride.  It frustrates me that I'm so in the dark, but I have to wonder if knowing would really give me any satisfaction: what would it change?  Nothing.  At least, not without me risking my hide and Ninuk risking his, and I'm not confident I'd be willing to do either.  However, it's a relief knowing its a moot point; I haven't spoken or seen Ninuk in two weeks to ask him.   

"I haven't seen him since before Christmas anyway."   

Pollux's face hardens, "Why?  Did he hurt you?"   

I laugh in disbelief at the sudden shift in my brother; it's good to know that no matter how we angry we are that we'll always be there for each other, regardless, "No, Lux, relax."   

"What happened, Anastasia?  I'm serious.  Does this have anything to do with why you haven't been sleeping?"   

The question hits the nail on the head, and my good humor dries up in an instantly leaving behind a cold, angry feeling that staggers me and has staggered me since I first experienced it a few days after Christmas when I'd woken up for the fifth consecutive night, drenched in sweat, heart pounding, and the feeling like my soul had been ripped from my body and shredded like paper.  Clenching my teeth, I shake my head, trying to dispel the haunted, cold feeling lingering inside me like a poison that is slowly killing me.  I don't want to think about the dreams.  And I don't want my brother prying into them.   

"Ninuk has nothing to do with my sleep deprivation, Lux.  I've just been really busy with homework and shit."  The lie is lame and blatant since we have the same classes and, therefore, the same homework assignments, but I can see the wheels in Pollux's head turning even as he decides to drop the issue.  Guilt begins to eat at my insides, "We just had a little argument, and I–"   

"Am too nervous to apologize for your freak out?"  Pollux tosses me his most charming smile that has succeeded in landing him a great many easy lays.  I shrug.  "Oh, Ana," he sighs, throwing an arm around my shoulder and kissing my cheek, "You're so predictable.  Suck it up.  Don't let this become another situation like Kennedy."   

Scowling at the memory of my ex-best friend, Kennedy Landry, who was this crazy fun (or so I'd thought) former middle school mean girl who'd totally flipped a shit after one fight.  I didn't like to be reminded of her, because sometimes, though not often, I had these misbegotten moments of nostalgia where I just _missed_ her.  We'd been close and had had deep, meaningful conversations in addition to silly, stupid ones that had made our friendship ridiculously important to me.  And we'd been really similar, which, come to think of it, is probably why one fight killed our friendship.  Neither of us did drama well and would rather chop it out of our lives like clumps of knotted, tangled hair than work through it. 

I tilt my head and smile, "I highly doubt that Ninuk's gonna flip the shit and bash me on social networking sites."   

"You never know," Pollux jokes, feigning a mysterious air that leaves me rolling my eyes and biting my lip to keep from giggling.   

"Don't you have something else you could be doing?"  I ask between laughter.   

"Uh-huh, I have a date," he waggles his eyebrows at me.   

My mouth drops open in an O of surprise before I narrow my eyes at him suspiciously, "With someone who's name _isn't_ Nicholas Ashford, correct?"   

Pollux's smile turns cheeky in an instant, "With someone who's name is Theodore Wallace."   

"No," I draw out the word in pure shock and surprise, though, frankly, I'd like anyone who isn't Nick the Prick.  "That boy is sexy."   

"Goodbye, Ana," he responds pointedly while I smirk, "I'll see you at the house?"   

"Only if you bring me dumplings to replace the last of my Lo Mein that you spoiled with your sordid tongue," I tell him dramatically.   

" _I_ spoiled?  You should fix the hole in your chin," he remarks while I glare at him malevolently.  Laughing, he kisses my cheek before smacking it lightly, leaving me rustled and bristling like an annoyed cat, "And, I know, two fortune cookies for my fatass," he grins.   

"Fuck you, Luxembourg!" I shout at him teasingly as he walks away, and he flips me off in reply.   

Turning, I wander past the trading post despite the massive sign saying trespassing beyond that point is not allowed and walk along the steep ledge until I reach Laurel's Landing in all it's quiet serenity.  The Landing is far enough away from everything that I feel secure sitting there, like I'm alone.  And regardless of the too moist ground and the tropical, bayou feel, I almost get the illusion that I'm home in Niagara where I know I'll probably never live again.   

On the weekend nights, the Landing becomes not a haven of peace and nostalgic remembrances of home and Earth but a make out spot for horny teenagers.  Still, in the daylight, even on the weekends, the spot is the picture of tranquility; a place where I can sit cross-legged on the ground with my back pressed against the curving trunk of a tree, eyes watching the gentle ocean waves lap lazily against the amber sands, smiling lightly.  I take comfort in the fact that waves still roll up onto the shores and the sea shifts from dark blue to light brown depending on the weather.  It makes me feel a little more secure, knowing some things never change.      

I hear creaking and the rustle of branches behind me, and I whirl around, eyes scanning the dark brush from the high boughs of leaves and branches to the ground.  Slowly, I turn back around, relaxing again against the tree.  One thing to be said for most of the creatures wandering Aurora, they aren't very big on subtlety; if whatever is lurking in the branches meant any harm, it would have sprung already.   

The sudden feeling of being watch spreads over me, and I fidget but don't move from my spot, waiting to see who will move first.  There's a low snort and then the sound of several branches breaking, getting louder as the object comes closer.  I tense, slowly I ease myself to my feet, rising slowly; my hand moves to the pocket where my pocket knife—replenished from my father's weapons stash—rests.  Once it's in my hand, I take a deep breath before whirling around and pulling it out with me, ready to use, but I come up short when my eyes fall on Ninuk who is leaning against a tree, stroking the neck of a discontented Nierox.   

I exhale in relief, dropping the knife, "Are you trying to give me a heart attack?"   

"You have been avoiding me," he says in response, and I don't reply, sitting back down and looking out over the ocean and the beach.   

The relatively warm weather means that despite it being mid-January there are a combination of young kids and teens are hanging out on the beach and wading out into the water, not far since it hasn't exactly been deemed 'safe', but it's not unlike our own ocean on Earth.  We've never been one hundred percent about what's in _that_ one, but we still aren't denied the fun of swimming.    

Ninuk scoops the pocketknife off the ground, examining it as he sits down across from me, "You think this would be any use in a fight?  It is much to small to make an impact in most creatures.  They have thick skin."   

"Thanks for the Newsflash, Captain Obvious," I reply, and it comes out harsher than it's intended to.  Still, I can't seem to stop myself from shifting uncomfortably being so close to him, though I didn't know why.   

Ninuk doesn't look the least bit concerned about my tone, tilting his head at me, "Have you been sleeping?"   

I glare, flicking a blade of grass at him, "Are you gonna tell I look like shit, too?"   

"Why have you not been sleeping?"  Ninuk asks pointedly, and I shake my head, unwilling to talk about my dreams with him or anyone.  He sighs but, like Pollux, doesn't push me, "Have you been practicing?"   

I flush guiltily and duck my head, letting my hair fall around my face, obscuring it, "Um...sort of."   

"'Sort of...'" He muses.  I peek up at him, through the curtain of hair to find him studying me carefully, his face purposefully blank.  "What exactly does that mean?  How often?"   

"Once," I answer reluctantly, grimacing and looking anywhere but at Ninuk.   

"Once a day?  Once a week?"   

"Once in PE class?" I suggest offhandedly, peering out of my curtain of hair to see him shaking his head in disappointment.  My stomach flips, and I look down at my lap guiltily.   

"Anastasia," he breathes, his deep disappointment coloring his tone while I blush, tugging at the end of my hair.  Sighing, Ninuk knocks the tip of his boot against the tip of my lace-up, battered knee-high Converse, and I glance up to meet his eyes despite my reluctance, "That is not enough to keep yourself in shape."   

I scoff, "I'm not in shape."   

Rolling his eyes, Ninuk doesn't bother arguing with me since we've been here, done that before, "You know what I mean."  I laugh slightly and nod, smiling a little before it drops again, and my gaze shifts back to the ocean where the sun is just beginning to set, "Do you...do you want to stop?  We do not have to continue if you do not want to."   

Sighing, I glance over at him, "What happened to those boys?  Two weeks ago?"   

"The ones who came into Kepīloria?"   

I frown at him, "The tribe?"   

"The capital city of _my_ tribe," he corrects me gently, and I nod, waiting.  He sighs, "They came late and disturbed the peace of the city.  They were loud and disrespectful and harassed many people who simply had no wish to be involved in their business.  They were not well.  There was something... _off_ about them."   

 _Alcohol...and probably drugs_.  I don't say anything about my inclinations, but Ninuk nods like he knows.  I'm sure that the Tstori have their own type of substances that are addictive and intoxicating, but I am still embarrassed by the behavior of my classmates and fellow Eden colony citizens to the point where I refuse to verbally own up.   

"Were you the ones that shook them up like that?"   

Ninuk grimaces and leans his head back against the tree, "It is complicated."   

"Un-complicate it," I reply.  

Smiling slightly at me, Ninuk shakes his head and laughs humorlessly.  "Do you remember when those three boys from my tribe came into your town, and we came to get them?"  I nod slowly, and he copies the motion, "If we had not gotten there, they would have been mobbed because people hate them—us—and fear us.  They think we are too unpredictable and inferior to be wandering around in their midst.   

"As a general rule, we feel the same just on basic principle.  Of course, we do not have the _œksid_ —outsider—feeling of superiority, but think of it for us.  We have lived here our whole life, had a tribal land that stretched all the way down across the plains, but we were invaded by a group of aliens who stole our lands through hostile means and forced us to hide in the forest for safety and yet continue to belittle and threaten us, and it _is_ a threat despite the subtlety.  They almost start a riot just because three of our own _walk_ among you and have to be surrounded by armed guards while selling wares in a market.  Your people frighten mine, but, even so, most are willing to attempt cohabitation, to a degree," the words were hesitant and full of a double meaning that leaves me wondering but I'm unwilling to interrupt his story for an explanation.  "What happened that night left my people shaken up as well.  I was in a...meeting," I frown at the way he says the word, "but my mother and sister were there.    

"Those boys came into the village and, unlike Tyrire, came not at all in some kind of peaceful demonstration.  They were wild and intoxicated, shouting insults, slurs, sexual innuendos at everyone within range.  Most people were unsettled but shrugged it off, willing to continue on with their lives as though they were nothing more than mere shadows.  We have a faction who is...unhappy with the presence of hostile invaders trying to dictate to us, but they have been chastised and under strict watch since Tyrire.  They were livid about the boys but held their tongue until one of those boys crossed a line and assaulted a woman walking by."   

"Assaulted?" I inquire curiously.   

"Most likely an overstatement, but it serves its purpose.  He was leering at her and grabbed her suddenly, holding her despite how she fought and pleaded to be released.  She managed to smack him, and he pushed her away on instinct.  The fall landed her in the middle of some pottery and scratched her up.  Her father is the a part of the dissension, and he went wild.  They did not truly harm them just got into their faces, but the boys rebuffed, unwisely, and the men roughed them up a little.  The warriors were called in to bring them home, and Saœr swears to me that those boys were asking for that fight.  Regardless, the warriors intervened and took them home, dropping them at the edge of the city since they were convinced your people would hold and blame them for the injuries should they stay."   

I don't confirm that they would have, neither of us need the confirmation; instead, I just study him.  I've only talked to him for a month, technically, though I've known him (or at least the idea of him) since late October, but something about him is just so comfortable as though I've known him for years.  I hate how he hides _all_ of his facial expressions except the snarky ones and how he talks in double speak half the time when he wants me to know something but not all of the something.  I hate how he pushes me until I'm crying or dying or turning black and blue, and that he chastises me for being too reliant on technology.  But I love how devoted he is to his people, loyal to them to a fault while on Earth, particularly in a divided America, people would turn on anyone who isn't blood for anything.  I love that he always answers my questions and can be serious and lighthearted while most boys I know are either so serious that they're boring beyond belief or so immature that I want to gouge my eyes out with my own nails.  I love that he expects me to take care of myself and pick things up; he's got faith in me that I don't have myself.   

My eyes flit over him automatically as if reaffirming that he looks the same as in my memory like I haven't seen him in years instead of a few weeks.  He does look the same: caramel skin, golden eyes, numerous piercings, and multicolored tribal tattoos.  As usual, he's wearing boots and loose, billowy pants that look ridiculously comfortable and a deep maroon along with some pseudo v-neck halter top that is completely black and decorated in an intricate beadwork.  He has on the same strange gold and leather necklace along with a plaited bracelet I'd never seen before.  The only thing different was that his hair had grown a little longer, the ends curling slightly where they touched his shoulders, and he'd exchanged his gauges for a pair of gold and ruby plugs.  The piercing just above his gauges decorated with a pair of spiraled feathers, a delicate, crafted bead dangling off the end.  I meet his eyes again, dancing with amusement, and I turn bright red for about the fifth time since we began this little powwow.    

Squinting at the seaside sunrise, I play with my fingers as the realization that I genuinely _missed_ Ninuk floods over me; I blink at my epiphany and glance at him swiftly, clearing my throat and looking quickly back out at the ocean.  He's still waiting for an answer, I can see it in his eyes, "If I leave who's gonna teach you about the glorious wonder that is contractions?"  I tell him jokingly to dispel my own sudden seriousness.  My eyes dart back to Ninuk who looks thoroughly entertained by my awkward attempts to thwart my new found feelings; he cocks his head to the side and raises his eyebrows at me meaningfully.  "And...I might have...kind of missed...our training sessions."   

Ninuk smirks, "Our _training sessions_?"   

Sniffing, I raise my chin and smile at him, "Yep."   

"Oh, okay, then I suppose you are ready for me to work your ass off since you have not been practicing," Ninuk suggests, raising his eyebrows at me and grinning triumphantly.   

I blanch and giggle nervously, "Did I say training sessions?  I meant Nierox."   

"Nierox?" Ninuk repeats, beaming and nodding while I shift, wondering where the hell the sly glint in his eye is leading.  My eyes widen, and I press my lips together nervously while I nod.  "You like the horse better than me?  I am hurt and—what is the term?—creeped out," he offers me a benevolent, heavenly smile.   

"There is _no_ bestiality here!  And where the hell do you learn these phrases?  Stop reading smutty fiction!  It doesn't suit you.  I'll lend you _Les Miserables_ or _A Tale of Two Cities_ or like _Pride and Prejudice_ or something.  Jesus!"  I say, shocked and shaking my head while Ninuk breaks out into a fit of full-bellied laughter that doesn't stop even after I both glare and kick him.  I stick my tongue out at him and get to my feet, heading to where the pterippi stands, head cocked like he's actually watching us, "And you wonder why I like Nierox better."   

Still laughing, I hear Ninuk get to his feet and in seconds, he's grabbing my hand and pulling me to a stop, "Anastasia, _mÿrič_ ," he says.   

I pout, shoving him the chest lightly while he just laughs and pulls me flesh against him, wrapping his arms around me and gripping my wrists tightly behind me to keep them immobile even as he gives me the most uncomfortable, pretzel hug I've ever had in my life.  I stop fighting when I realize it's a fruitless pursuit that amuses him and hurts me, standing stiff and tense...a lot like Demetri when I put him in a Santa costume last year.  He'd just sat there looking rigid and unhappy, which I guess I understand now.  Ninuk presses his cheek against mine, and I scrunch my nose, blowing his long, silky hair out of my face.  _Asshole_.   

"I learned them from _Shades of Grey_."  Ninuk says, answering my question about where he'd learned the phrase 'creeped out' as well as numerous others of his odd colloquial commentary, which makes me feel like I'm watching a dog walk on its hind legs.   

"What the fuck?  God, that is _not_ literature.  That is glorified fanfiction!"  I shake my head while Ninuk tilts his head to the side, confused.  Realizing he has no idea what the hell I'm talking about, I wave it off, "Never mind.  I'm bringing you a real piece of literature."   

"Do you want me to make a list of all the books you owe me?"  Ninuk asks wryly.   

This brings me up short, "Do you actually want to read them?"   

"Yes," he says genuinely, and I relax, nodding.   

"Um...okay."  Ninuk beams, and I look down at our position, both us still pressed together like some demented sandwich without any kind of filler and my hands still held captive behind me, "You can let me go now."   

He releases me abruptly, placing a hand on my cheek and resting his forehead against mine, "I will see you tomorrow."   

"Yep," I reply somewhat breathlessly as he grins and goes to Nierox, saluting me sarcastically before they disappear into the forest.   

Shaking my head, I start walking back, pausing momentarily when I feel a pair of eyes on me accompanied by a low growl and the rustling of the leaves above.  I stare up into the dark boughs searching for a source of the sound.  Everything inside me says there is something up there.  I find nothing, so I turn and walk.


	10. Chapter Ten

_Oh fuck._    

I see the kick coming and move as quickly as I can to avoid it, missing getting clocked but narrowly.  Ninuk's pissed, clearly, at how close he was to a hit, and I stick my tongue out at him childishly, dancing out of the way when he aims another kick at me out of pure retaliation, a smile on his face.   

_Come at me bro._

Surprisingly, my lungs aren't burning, my heart isn't pounding so fast that I'm afraid it's going to jump out of my chest, and my legs and arms don't feel like they're made of a gelatin that is about to give at any moment, deflated like a reject soufflé.  It's a nice feeling...well not nice when I think of all the bruises I'll have tomorrow but close.   

Ninuk lunges towards me, and I dart out of the way again.   

"You missed me, again," I taunt.   

"This is not a fair fight," he tells me.   

"Why?  I think it's perfectly fair.  I'll lose in combat, and you can't win until you catch me and probably can't catch me until I either slip up or get tired.  Win-win, I think."   

"Fighting is not 'win-win'."   

He says this right before managing to slip past my defenses and lock my arms behind my back, pressing his knife dangerously close to my throat.  I roll my eyes and ease my neck away from the tip, turning my head slightly to see him behind me, "It's life or death.  None of this equality bullshit.  Survival of the fittest.  There's a winner and a loser.  A predator and its prey.  The hunter and its victim."   

"I get it," I remark, shoving his arm away from my neck and flopping down on the grass beside my bag, suddenly feeling exhausted, though more due to my lack of sleep than anything else.   

The dreams have been haunting my nights, and they're beginning to intrude upon my days.  The strange nightmares have fucked with my social life but not with my grades, which are improving if anything, much to the delight of both my parents and my teachers.  Though, saying that a straight A student is 'improving greatly' is not without its irony.  I pull my tablet out of the bag, flipping on the LCD screen and pulling up my homework sheet while gulping down the lemon Propel from my water bottle.  Ninuk collapses beside me on the grass, laying so close that I can feel the heat coming off his body.   

As a general rule, I have a pretty massive sized spacial bubble that only the person I shared the womb with for nine months can really pop without being...well, popped in the face, but, for some reason, Ninuk pushes those boundaries.  I let him, though I'm not sure he's aware of how big that is for me.   

 _I'm_ not gonna tell him.   

"Have you been sleeping?"  Ninuk demands seriously.   

Shaking my head, I answer the reading study guide questions with shockingly quick efficiency, "I've been busy."   

"Doing this?"  He gestures to the tablet.   

"Yeah, school work," I reply offhandedly.   

Ninuk sits up slightly, narrowing his eyes on me, "And how has that been going?"   

"Really good," I tell him honestly, finishing up the questions and flipping to my history guided reading questions, which I usually dread but have been finding ridiculously easy since after the holiday break.  "My teachers think I'm like turning into some all-knowing deity or something.  My brother thinks I'm on some kind of drug to make myself smarter or more focused."   

"Really?"  Ninuk draws out the word.   

Rolling my eyes, I glance down at him, "What?"   

"Nothing," he shakes his head with a slow, smug smile beginning to spread over his face, "I just have more proof it worked, at least a little."   

Smiling slightly, I shake my head and turn my attention back to my homework, "You think so?  How do you know I'm not on like Speed or something?  And that weird light incident wasn't some kind of freak chemical reaction in nature due to, like, proximity with my awesomeness?"   

Ninuk doesn't bother responding to the latter with anything but an eye roll, though to the former, he questions, "Speed?"   

"It's a drug."   

Ninuk gives me a long, disbelieving look, "You're not the type."   

"And you're using contractions!"  I say with a wide grin.   

He scowls, "That is a bad habit I do not want to pick up.  You have been oversimplifying your own language anyway; I certainly refuse to do the same."   

"No skipping steps on the evolutionary language timeline, huh?"  I ask while Ninuk laughs and nods, "Whatever, dude, don't hate on my usage of 'LOL' and 'BRB', okay?  At least I'm not one of those people who 'hashtag' things in conversation, not that you know what that means, just be happy I'm not _that_ devoted to my electronic device."   

"I'm thrilled," Ninuk mutters genuinely, laying back down on the ground fully while I continue to type out my answers to a bunch of rote guided history questions that I'd much rather be debating.  "I think we need to add on more practice time for you so that you do not get any sloppier than you already are," I shoot him a withering glare that he ignores, "and you need to learn more offensive maneuvers, or, at least, how to use them.  You are getting better though, I never expected you to be able to, at the very least, avoid my attacks as long as you're capable."   

"Oh thank you," my tone is dripping in sarcasm, "but are you really surprised I don't try offense?  You're like some secret karate master, don't think I don't know.  You'd whip my ass in no time."   

"You will never know if you do not try."   

"No shit Sherlock, but at least I will remain unblemished and unbroken."   

"I have an idea about that since you are so intimidated by me," Ninuk grins while I roll my eyes at the boy's massive ego, though it's not necessarily untrue.  "When can you start?  Actually I want to ease you into this gently, can you do Friday?"   

Pursing my lips for a minute, I think it over like I actually have a life outside of school that doesn't involve babysitting my siblings, feeding raw meat cutlets from the freezer to a mini-dragon that can't breathe fire, or watching movies that haven't been made in the last fifty years while the cats sit on my lap helping to keep my blood pressure down.  Just as I open my mouth to tell him that's fine, my tablet and phone go off at the same time, and Ninuk looks at me with his eyebrows raised while I just shake my head, clicking on the text message link.

**Lux <3: Dont 4get about the junr class trip to Jericho fri.  Nd u, me, Theodore, Micah dbl  date, same day, sry   **

I sigh at my brother's attempt at setting me up and the class trip, but I let it go.

**AnaBanana: I h8 u.  fine.  whatevr.  nevr say i nevr do anything 4 u**

**Lux <3: Nevr. Thnx twin.  ** 

My eyes narrow, but I don't reply, flipping off the tablet and looking over at Ninuk apologetically, "Ugh, no can do, actually.  Class trip across the plains to our 'sister colony' of Jericho.  Teacher says we won't get back until at least eight, which is way too late for me to be sneaking out without getting caught."   

Ninuk nods, "That's fine for this week.  We can do this Saturday."  My eyes slit on his too-innocent face suspiciously, but I don't ask since I doubt he'll tell me this one.  He looks up at me, "But we do have to work this out, though; why the long face for a class trip?"   

"Well, first of all, my classmates?  Dumbasses, I swear, if that's the future of humanity then we're better off dying out back home," I tell Ninuk who looks like he thinks I'm being overly dramatic; I shake it off and continue, knowing that he might be right. "And my brother set me up on this double date with this guy that I have absolutely zero interest in because _Pollux_ is nervous about being 'alone' with Theodore in the middle of some foreign colony...or so he says."   

My explanation is met with complete silence, and I glance down at Ninuk, wondering if maybe he fell asleep to find him wide awake, staring up at the canopy of leaves above up, his face completely blank and his muscles taut.     

"Date?  Who is this boy?"  Ninuk sounds dangerously nonchalant like my mom before she bites my head off about putting the dishes in the wrong spot or forgetting to change the cat boxes before trash day.   

Silently, I debate whether or not I should tell Ninuk about Micah, leaning more towards the 'probably not' until Ninuk levels me with a long, hard look that is scary persuasive.  If I got looks like that from my mother I would sing every bad thing I've ever done in twenty seconds flat while playing Beethoven's 5th Concerto to perfection if that's what she wanted.   

"His name is Micah, and he's...well...he's nice enough and has, according to my friends, had a crush on me 'forever'," I roll my eyes.  "But, I don't know, he's just...I'm not...you have no idea what I'm talking about do you?"   

Ninuk laughs, though it's got an edge to it that I can't place, "It would help if you used words perhaps."   

"I can do that," I say after I take a deep breath, steadying myself and trying to elucidate all of my feelings about Micah.  "Like I said, he's nice, I guess.  I don't actually know him.  He's really quiet with no sense of humor to speak of, and he's so shy that he won't even ask me for my number, his friends did it in this really awkward, very hostile kind of way.  I've been avoiding him ever since.  We tried to have a real conversation once, and it consisted of small talk about the weather with twenty minute awkward silences between him not quite understanding my sarcasm."   

A small smile flits across Ninuk's face, "You would never work."   

"And why is that?"  I ask lazily, shoving my tablet in my book bag and laying down beside him, folding my arms over my stomach.   

"I just cannot see it.  You are not exactly articulate with people you do not know; the first time we met you could not even speak and the second time was a sea of never ending stuttering."   

"Hey!  The first time, I almost died.  And the second, I distinctly remember saying at least three sentences that were stutter free!"   

Ninuk rolls his eyes, "And how many friends have you made through conversation?"   

"All of them," I say proudly.   

"That _you_ initiated?"   

My good humor deflates, "I hate you."   

"You do not," Ninuk beams at me brightly.  "I think you like me quite a bit."   

"Fuck you," I say by way of reply, glaring at him.   

Ninuk smirks, "Name the time and place."   

"Ew!"  I squeal, punching him in the arm while he laughs, "Get your mind out of the gutter!  I give you Shakespeare and you're still pulling references from _Shades of Grey_?"   

"What do you think Shakespeare is about?  He was a very sexually frustrated man, as you would say."   

I grimace, "Disgusting.  Thank you for putting that image in my head."   

"I am sorry," Ninuk says giving me an adorable 'forgive me' smile that probably got him out of a lot of trouble when he was a child.  I'm not falling for it, and he laughs, grabbing my hand and squeezing it, "Be careful in Jericho, Anastastia."   

I frown at the seriousness of his tone and look over at him to see worry flickering over his face.   

"Why?  Is there something I should be worried about?"   

Sighing, Ninuk squeezes my hand lightly before holding our intwined hands up, "I am not sure, just, stay with your group, okay?"

* * *

Bus rides and class field trips have never been my thing for good reason: they are annoying.  Annoying classmates.  Annoying teachers.  Annoying parent chaperones.  And all of us, stuck in a moving vehicle with tiny little windows that we're not allowed to open, a hundred different songs blaring in the air, and the screens of numerous LCD tablets lighting the dim interior to the point where looking up is a sunglasses-required activity.  A low cacophony of voices fill the air, echoing around the bus and rising above the strange mixture of rap, hip hop, dubstep, electronic, pop, country, and even rock music that merges together to create the quiet hum of multi-genre background noise.   

The bus ride is a three-hour epic journey passed the small, suburban neighborhood stuck at the very edge of Eden and across the corner of the plains dotted with small houses and mini plantations.  We head out of the colony, stopping at the guard posts to sign out and get our four armed Marine escorts before we cross a small clearing that leads to the gravel, backcountry service road that cuts across the plains.  No one is allowed in this part of the colony without a military escort, and I peer out of the window curiously, staring at the dying yellow-green grass, my eyes narrowing on a single grate in the ground.  Frowning, I study it before glancing back at Pollux, frowning in confusion; I open my mouth to ask Pollux if he sees anything but halt when my gaze meets one of the soldiers looking at me seriously and win frightening intensity.  I shut my mouth, sitting back in my seat and flipping on my music, sparing one last glance to the lone grate in the ground that is far from natural.   

Jericho colony sits between what my mother calls a temperate forest and the plains, just a little ways away from a river.  At first glance, it looks nearly identical to our town, the same squat, square, practical buildings, but it's smaller and more condensed made for practicality over comfort, productivity over luxury.  As we pass the guard posts and go into the small city, I see that it's mostly all business; the main sights being a massive, central military headquarters situated beside the city hall.  There is a school that looks more like a prison, far less cozy than our own in Eden, and apartment complexes that remind me of the projects in New York with the same homey-grim look on the outside.  Soldiers are some of the only people that can be seen walking around, the regular folk probably stuck off in some grim corner of the despondent colony.   

"Oh my God," Pollux whispers to me, "where _are_ we?"   

"The ninth circle of hell," I answer, looking out the window, unwilling to get off the bus as the teachers instruct us to exit.  Pollux and I share a grim look before following.   

Our tour guides are a mother-daughter pair, the mother being a former Marine turned local city councilman and emissary of the corporation that runs the colony and the daughter being a local genius that smiles like a robotic beauty queen while eyeing my brother appreciatively.  _Oh Pollux._   According to them, while Eden was founded to be a military way station, scientific research base, and a semi-permanent colony of nuclear families, Jericho had been founded for exploration, industry, and waste management.     

Basically, if we were the experiment, they were the life support.  They cut down trees, explore and survey the surrounding areas, and take care of problems that they refused to elaborate on when our class asked.  They also work closely, apparently, with our own military body in Eden, but, judging by the looks on _our_ soldiers' faces, they're just as happy as I am that they were stationed in Eden and not in one of the grimmest places I've ever encountered in my entire life, which includes the time that I went with my mother to visit one of her childhood friends in the deep projects of Detroit.   

"As for the savages," Congresswoman Penelope Thorton says with a look of hatred and disgust, "they are not your Tstori bastards; these 'natives' are uncivilized, vicious, heartless brutes with no thought in their mind beside those of basic animal instincts.  They attack with no warning for no reason, destroying our supply stores, slaughtering innocents, and seriously harming the infrastructure of the city.  They are crass and savage, undisciplined and wild."   

"They need to be exterminated," Thorton's daughter, Serena, says with disgust.   

I narrow my eyes at her while Pollux grips my hand.  Ninuk told me on Sunday, after another round of physically traumatizing sparring, that while Eden's land had been a part of Tstori territory, few Tstori had actually _lived_ on it preferring to be close to the city center and towns.  Jericho, on the other hand, had been a major trading city for the forest-dwelling Nirutū tribe; they had _literally_ been chased out of with tanks, semi-automatic weaponry, and military force.  There had been skirmishes and the burning of family homes to evict them from the city so that it could be claimed in the name of the people of earth.    

And it had been.  While I didn't quite understand the significance of the town's 'vital importance' to the continuity of sustaining life on Aurora, I can value their lives and the fact that innocent bystanders don't deserve to be attacked by angry natives, but I also can't help but feel for the Nirutū and can't join in the Jericho hate for them since they were the ones who forced the natives off their land violently and destructively.  I can't deny the Nirutū their thirst for revenge; we would do the same.   

Pollux grabs my hand and squeezes it, a silent warning to keep my mouth shut.  The advice is solid, and I follow it, biting my tongue and flipping on my music, letting the wireless earbuds blast screamo into my head so that I can keep from listening to more native bashing from the propaganda machine that is our military, politicians, and society in general.  Jericho, unlike Eden, feels exactly like what it is: mid-January, mid-winter.  The frigid air blows icy cold wind towards us, and I shiver, pulling my coat against me tighter and looking up at the gray skies with a frown.  

Every part of me screams to go home.  I'm tired of Jericho and how much it reminds me of our over-polluted, over-industrialized, perpetually gray home planet; not to mention, our 'sister' colony makes me really unsettled, and it doesn't help that I feel like something's been watching me since we hopped into the military-grade, armored bus that goes 100 mph at minimum so that they can get from colony to colony in the shortest amount of time possible.   

We break just before dinner time for 'personal exploration', which essentially means that people are going to wander anywhere that they can find food since there is really nothing else to do in Jericho, and no one is brave enough to explore the forest when the Jericho colonists have such notable issues with their native neighbors.  Ignoring the cold as much as I can, I hobble down the dilapidated, mud street alongside my brother and his not-quite-a-boyfriend, Theodore Wallace, trying to keep my eyes open for Micah whom I can live my whole life without ever going on another awkward stroll with.  I'd rather play third wheel to Pollux and Theodore.   

Unlike Nick the Dick, I actually _like_ Theodore.  In part to the fact that he's just as out of the closet as my brother, which will save Pollux anymore of that particular brand of grief in the long run.  However, my approval of the boy comes mainly from his personality, which is this perfect combination of cautiously optimistic and perfectly chilled.  He's sweet and levelheaded, smart and humble, happy and subdued.  Not mention he's got legitimate friends that spend more of their time playing sports, reading, and working than listening to rap and getting high.  Theodore strikes me as the human version of a golden retriever with shaggy golden blond hair and warm brown eyes with a boyish smile to match his charm.  He is also, unfortunately, good friends with Micah, so I have little doubt he coaxed Pollux into the idea of a double date.   

For a few minutes I trail behind the chatterbox pair ignoring their completely ADD conversation about everything ranging from last year's Super Bowl (apparently it was a true underdog story) to Disney's continuation of the Star Wars trilogies (total fail, according to Pollux's bias).  My eyes scan the drab buildings surrounding us, and I shift uncomfortably feeling more like I'm in a ghetto than a multi-million dollar science and military colony.  The closer I am to the buildings, studying them to avoid my brother's odd mixture of nerdy jock talk, the more I can see the signs of scuffles.  Windows are broken and boarded up, there are holes in the sides of buildings, arrows sticking out of the side of walls haphazardly, higher up as if no on could find a way to get them down.  It's a nerve-wracking sight, and I shudder, more than a little bit of anxiety leaking into me.  I've never had any particular warm, fuzzy feelings towards Jericho to begin with, but now, I feel like I want to run away and never return. The colony is more a desolate war-zone buffer ghetto than anything else, just being here makes me miss Eden.  

Hugging myself tightly, I swing my gaze around, but a sign stops both my heart and my gaze.  Narrowing my eyes in disbelief, I frown at the shabby wooden sign hanging crookedly over an old door, swinging precariously from one thin chain while the second swings freely back and forth in the breeze.  ANDERSON BOOKSELLERS INC is painted on the piece of decaying wood in bold, block letters in chipping off-white paint.  My breath catches, and my eyes widen.   

I've always been a bit of a bookworm, and one of the main things I miss about home is the bookstores.  There aren't many since physical, paper books were all but outsourced by ebooks nearly forty years ago, but bookstores haven't completely become obsolete and, especially in New York, there's always one or two used bookshops around locally.  Eden has none, and I've missed holding a physical book in my hand, at least one that I haven't read about a hundred times.   

"Hey Theodore!"  I hear someone call, and I whirl my head around to see Micah waving at his friend, his strangely crooked smile on his face while he comes towards us in his awkward lope.   

Quickly, I grab Pollux's elbow and turn him around to face me, "I'm going to the book store."   

Pollux narrows his eyes at me skeptically until I point at the store, glancing over his shoulder to see how far away Micah still was.  Far enough away to escape.  Pollux's gaze meets mine, and he studies me for a moment before peeking over his shoulder at Micah.  He sighs before nodding, "Fine, Ana, but don't get carried away.  Our reservation is in like fifteen minutes; I'd say don't be late but it's you and a bookstore, so, just try to show up reasonably on time, yeah?"   

"Yeah," I grin at him, kissing his cheek, "I love you."   

"You'd better," Pollux shouts, shaking his head as I run off down the side street.   

Shoving the door open, I pause just inside, letting the warm, heated air blanket me while breathing in the scent of dust, paper, and ink that make up the atmosphere of the best bookshops or, at least, the coziest.  Opening my eyes, I peer around the small, closet of a shop as I walk further inside.  Just across from the door is a tiny, shabby desk that seems to be functioning as the register, an old man sitting on a stool behind it, his upper body sprawled across the surface in slumber.  Stifling a laugh, I turn my attention to the rest of the shop, which consists of four walls covered in posters and photographs of authors, book signings, and various sights around the world, seven floor-to-ceiling shelving units packed so closely together it's a wonder anyone can fit, and a window seat that has been transformed into some kind of failure of a book display.   

I smile and move between the shelves, lightly running my fingers over the bindings and quirking an eyebrow at the layer of dust covering each of them.  They're old, _really_ old by all accounts, but I smile anyway at the familiar titles: _Lord of the Rings, Moby Dick, Persuasion, Wuthering Heights, 1984, Utopia, Les Miserables, The Three Musketeers_.  At the top of the shelf is a browning place card that says 'CLASSICS' in elegant calligraphy, and I move around, studying the other side.   

There are a surprising amount of books ranging from classics to science fiction to nonfiction to religious.   However, there are also stacks and piles resting on the floor against the wall with a placard hovering over them simply declaring them as 'MISCELLANEOUS', and I smile, kneeling down to sort through them.  It seems that 'miscellaneous' just means 'too lazy to sort through' since I find _Game of Thrones, Twilight, Casual Vacancy, Shades of Gray_ , and _Emma_ all thrown in a haphazard heap against the wall.  Frowning, I pause in my ministrations when I get to a leather, journal-sized volume with no title; the only thing I see on the outside is a strange collection of symbols, and I flip it open to the cover page.   

 _To whom it may concern, or shall I say, to whomever desires to know the truth wholly from the point of view of one who has seen but not lived it then this I give you.  Read and try to understand for all of it has been written, all that you need to know, though, perhaps, not all that you desire to know.  It is hard to say what the difference between the two truly is, of 'need' and of 'desire', but there is a difference, and one that should be known, recognized, and understood, so allow me, please, to be your teacher in all that you must learn, even, should you not desire to learn so.  It is a necessary lesson to change the world as we know it.  A revolution of the will that is necessary for the survival of a sub-species.  I give to you these truths.  The rest you must fight for, because no one will ever give you what you want without strings, without consequence.  You must search and look and strive everyday all day, and only then will you deserve to know said truths.  Kindly, Zeracha._  

A cough startles me from the confusing words, and I whirl around, peering through the shelves to see the old man getting up.  "Hello?"  He calls out, "Is someone there?"   

"Yeah," I reply, getting to my feet and walking forward with a biography about Thomas Jefferson as well as the leather bound book tucked under my arm.  I smile at him as he blinks at me from behind his glasses, "Hello."   

"Oh," he seems shocked to see someone, but he recovers quickly clearing his throat.  "Can I help you, dear?"   

"Um...yes," I hand him the biography but hesitate with the leather book, "Sir, what is this?"  I hand him the book gingerly as if I'm afraid it'll be snatched away, and he takes it reverently, flipping through the pages before looking up at me through narrowed eyes.   

"I remember buying this book," he nods taking off his glasses and squeezing the bridge of his nose.  "It was, oh, years ago, when this colony had just been created.  A woman came in, only about thirty, twitchy sort, face and head completely covered by a black hooded sweatshirt.  She gave it me and told me that someday someone would come in asking about this book, and I'd better sell it to her.  All of our lives depended on it.  Then she disappeared, didn't wait for the money."  He shakes his head and puts his glasses back on, "Strange girl, that one.  I've never believed in that sort of fate nonsense, but, all the same, I've never read it.  Can't tell you anything about it, other than that."   

Sighing, I gaze at the book before looking back at the old man, "I'll take it."  I don't believe the story, but now, I want to know what's so special about it that a woman came in spewing fortune-teller bullshit about how all our lives depended on someone buying this book.  I thank him, handing over the cash and tucking the books away in my messenger bag before ducking out of the shop and heading back down towards main street where the restaurant is.   

With each step, I grow more and more nervous, though I can't tell if that's because I'm about to go a double date with a guy I have absolutely zero attraction to or if that's because I'm walking along a creepy dirt road that borders a dark forest while the lights slowly begins to fade coupled with the feeling someone's watching me.  Both reasons seem plausible, but I'm leaning towards the former.  After all, it's not like the same thing hasn't happened in Eden, right?  I've walked in our bayou forest at night, not alone, but close enough considering Moose is about as brave as jackrabbit.   

The sound of cracking branches spurns me ahead at a quicker pace, and I try to control my breathing, telling myself to relax and thinking of all the things it could probably be: a wild animal (cause _that's_ not terrifying nee chupacabras), another person (what the hell are they doing wandering around in the woods...serial killer), Nirutū (I'd rather have the chupacabra).   

Up ahead, I can just see tiny sign declaring the street I turn up to get to the restaurant, and I smile, feeling myself relax when there's a sudden whinny and a large equine animal jumps out of the brush.  I jerk back reflexively, and my eyes widen when my gaze lands on the massive opal horn now directly slicing through where I'd once been standing.   

 _Oh fuck._  

I whirl around to backtrack when another unicorn appears there too, and I press my back to the wall and watch another three appear out of the forest.  All the unicorns are stark white with an unearthly glow about them and massive, wicked sharp opal horns, cloven hooves, and tails like donkeys as opposed to horses.  They don't seem nice and the picture of innocence like most mythology declare, more like malevolent, living spears.  Sitting astride them are five men in tall, lace-up leather boots, brown animal hide pants with satchels around their waists with their whole upper bodies covered in dark war paint.  They each have sharp, what appear to be, bone piercing their septum and large gauged ears; none of them had hair longer than chin-length, though all of them had it decorated with beads, braids, and feathers.  Long, dark brown cloaks are draped over them, and each and every one of them have their decorated spears trained on me.   

"Wandering a little close to the border, are we?"  One of them asks me.   

"Look, I don't want any trouble; I'm not from around here, okay?"  I bite back at them, fighting to keep my tone level and not reveal any fear.   

"I care very little about where you come from.  You are here on our land, regardless," another snaps.   

I scowl at them all, "Not yours anymore, now is it?"   

Someone hisses in anger, and I watch all of their expressions darken.   

A spear suddenly presses against my throat, and my eyes look to the spear's bearer.  He sneers at me, "And what would they do if I were to kill your insolent hide where you stand?"   

"Retaliate?"  I suggest, sneering back at him defiantly.  "Go ahead.  Give them a reason to slaughter you and yours, because they have the means.  Killing me would make me a martyr, and it would make you the cause to the destruction of your civilization.  But go ahead, try it, I dare you."   

He glowers at me, frustration flickering through his eyes as he pushes the spear further against my neck.  It breaks the skin, and I can feel a bead of blood dripping down my neck, "You have a big mouth for someone surrounded by enemies."   

I shrug, trying to give off an air of unconcern that is completely at odds with my pounding heart and sweating palms; I'm far from unaffected.  The way I feel is a whole lot closer to 'sheer terror' rather than 'complete indifference', but I'm hoping they can't see through the mask, "I'm not worried."  

"You should be," Another supplies, thrusting his spear towards me, but I grab it, quickly using its own momentum to both grab the spear and rip him off the unicorn's back.  His unicorn rears in alarm while the neighboring one, dances away nervously when I slam the man into its side.   

Quickly, I duck out of the way of the spear pressing into my neck, flipping my own around to knock his out of hand abruptly; I wave it towards his unicorn who freaks out, as expected, and rears back in fear.  Nimbly, I slide between the rearing, frightened animal and the wall of a building, racing towards the street.  _If I can just get there...come on, come on, come on..._ I can hear the sound of hooves racing towards me, but I keep running, not quite sure if I'm right, unsure if whether reaching the street will mean reaching help, but knowing it's my only shot since, apparently, the guards aren't exactly 'good' at their job.   

The street stretches out in front of me, and I can feel fatigue wearing on me, but I'm almost there!  My arms are grasped on either side, and the road disappears from in front of me as the two unicorns and their riders turn in sync, preparing to disappear back into the forest.   

Panic floods me, and I fight, trying to yank my arms from their hold and kicking out at their mounts who startle and move apart to avoid my blows.  I cry out in pain as my arms are stretch further and further apart, but I bite my lip and continue fighting through the tears and the pain.  Glancing back, I see the colony getting further and further away; I aim take a deep breath and pull both my legs to my chest.   

One...two...three...   

I kick the unicorn's shoulder as hard as I can with both feet, and it whinnies loudly, halting abruptly and dancing to the side.   

Unprepared, its rider doesn't release his hold on me but comes flying off, landing hard on the ground, still gripping my arm.  I gasp in pain, my head turning to the other rider just in time to see a blur of white leap from the trees and knocking him off the animal and right onto his back.  There's a snarl and a cry of pain before my arm is released abruptly, and I grope around for a rock, grasping a heavy jagged one, swinging it over to pound it into the wrist of the hand still gripping my arm until I'm released with a cry of pain.   

Stumbling to my feet, I run back the way we came, leaping over the man who'd held my wrist, carefully avoiding the hand reaching for my ankle.  More hoofbeats reach my ears, and I try not to let hopelessness take me as I sprint through the woods, my gaze locked on the vague shadow of Jericho.     

 _I can make it.  I can make it,_ the chant echoes through my head, though I'm not sure I believe it.   

A unicorn leaps out in front of me, blocking my path, and I hear the two remaining riders behind me.  Slamming to a halt and gasping for breath, I look over their shoulder at the road before focusing on the murderously angry gaze of the man in front of me.  He lifts his spear when, once again, the blur of white leaps out, catching onto the spear by its teeth and swinging itself up, using the spear like a springboard and leaping at the man's face.  They tumble off, and it releases him abruptly, whirling around to snarl.  I barely get a glimpse of it before it takes off again, launching itself at the men behind me, and I take the opportunity to sprint off again, ignoring the sounds behind me as I tear away towards Jericho.   

This time, I make it to the street and don't stop until I'm in the town square where I allow myself to collapse.  I'm not exactly hurt, but I'm exhausted, frightened, and ready to go home.  I can hear the low murmur of voices, but I shake it off, laying back on the ground and trying to catch my breath.   

Questions are flying, and I can't tell whether or not they're aimed at me.  Someone screams for a doctor.  Soldiers suddenly have their guns out and ready, alert and scanning for any sign of danger though a part of me screams: _what good does that do now?  Where were you ten minutes ago?_   Hands pull me up into a sitting position, and I yank my arms away, pulling my knees to my chest and wrapping my arms around my legs.   

An oxygen mask is being handed to me, and I take it, somewhat dazed, and breath in and out.  Slowly, I can feel my heart rate returning to normal, though the sounds still blend together tonelessly.   

"Ana!"  I hear someone call, "Ana!"   

Pollux.   

My head shoots up, and suddenly, my brother appears in front of me, pushing the doctor out of the way wordlessly.  I lean into him when he wraps his arms around me before looking up at him tiredly, still trying—and failing—to catch my breath, "No more field trips, Lux."  I tell him, coughing and ridiculously breathless.   

Pollux laughs in relief and kisses my head, "Damn right, Ana Banana, no more field trips.  Relax now, I'm not gonna let anything else happen to you."  I nod as he takes the oxygen mask from my fingers just before my eyelids flutter shut and the world goes dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter was long, sorry, and featured killer unicorns...I regret nothing.


	11. Chapter Eleven

"You're late," Ninuk says by way of greeting as I drag my sore, exhausted, aching body across the canyon to stand in front of him.   

His words prompt a surge of irrational anger in me, and I cross my arms over my chest glaring at him malevolently.   

Chances are, he has no idea what the hell happened to me only eight or so hours ago, but it doesn't stop me from being pissed off at his terse chastisement.  I think it's commendable that I got out of bed today let alone got my ass on a sixteen hands tall horse and rode out here in a somewhat timely fashion, especially considering all the hoops I had to jump through to get out the fucking door.  All I say in response is: "I hope you appreciate how hard it was to get out of my house."   

Ninuk raises an eyebrow, looking me over, "You look like shit."   

Huffing, I toss him yet _another_ withering glare, "Yeah, asshole, and I feel like shit too.  Now, if you're quite finished, I'm not exactly in the mood today, thanks."   

I drop down into the damp grass, cross-legged and yank my ponytail holder out of my hair, twisting it back up again with difficulty.  I silently curse my lazy-ass self who had been too remiss to spend two plus hours flat ironing the heap, meaning that it is now a frizzy mass of thick curls vastly approaching 'mini afro' status.  I can feel my messy, badly made bun perching on the top of my head like some weird feathery hat or an exotic bird in its nest.   

Tilting his head to the side, Ninuk studies me wordlessly before leaning casually against a tree, arms crossed over his chest, "Are you going to tell me what happened or were you planning on whining about it all day?"   

"The latter, actually," I snap at him while he raises his eyebrows at me.   

"Not an option, Ana; talk because you are about to blow, and today is important."   

"You wouldn't understand anyway."   

Now, he just looks pissed, but I'm too caught up in my churning tornado of emotions to back down now.   

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"   

"It means, Ninuk, that you wouldn't understand why I'm so upset.  How much clearer can I be?"   

"And you're pissing me off.  How much clearer can _I_ be?"   

I raise an eyebrow at him and cross my arms over my chest defiantly.  His eyes narrow, "Talk or we train so hard today that you will be too tired to open your eyes tomorrow, let alone continue opening your mouth."   

"God, whatever, fine, have it your way like you always fucking do," I say, and his eyes narrow further into slits, daring me to continue down that particular pathway.  Thankfully, I seem to have some sort of self-preservation left in me, and I drop it.  "I'm just fucking tired, Ninuk, okay?  I'm tired of this planet.  I'm tired of not getting a good night sleep because of all these weird fucking dreams.  I'm physically exhausted, covered in a bunch of scrapes, seem to be to be a magnet for homicidal lunatics, have to fight with my family to leave the house without supervision, and have lost my bag thanks to my ditzy brother.  And I'm turning into a whiny little baby, so excuse me if I'm just not in the mood for you and your mercurial personality today."   

"Mercurial?"  Ninuk demands incredulously, and I throw my hands up in the air in exasperation.   

" _That's_ what you got from my whole rant?  Seriously?"  I shake my head and scramble to my feet unsteadily, trying to suppress the anger that I know I'm channeling at Ninuk like he's some kind of verbal human punching bag, "I'm done.  I'm done.  I'll just...I'll just see you tomorrow or whenever."   

His hand grabs mine, yanking me towards him, and he tilts my head back, frowning at my neck.  It takes my groggy mind a moment to comprehend, but I do so with a groan, shoving him away from me and using a tree as—in the words of my grandfather—a personal leaning post.  I glower at him from where I'm standing, and he ignores it, the struggle to wrap his mind around the wound evident on his face, "Is that from a _weapon_ , Ana?"   

"Yes," I practically spit the word at him.   

"It was _you_ ," he whispers more to himself than to me.   

"What the _hell_ are you talking about now?"   

"One of our tribe's spies brought word that two Nirutū had been killed in an attack by one of the _œksid_ ; three others were seriously injured.  We were doubtful, but..." Ninuk trails off, his gaze shooting back to me with accusation lurking in the back of his eyes.   

"Are you kidding me?"  I hiss at him, "They _attacked_ me.  Understand?  _They_ attacked _me_."   

"Two of them _died_.  They had wives, mother, families.  Understand?"   

"They tried to _kill me_ Ninuk!  I mean, what did you want me to do?  Put my hands up and be like 'yeah, sure, go ahead and put a fucking _spear through my body cavity_.'  That would never happen by any stretch of the imagination!"   

"I highly doubt they decided skewer you just for the hell of it, Ana!  There had to be a point between them 'attacking' you and one of them trying to 'put a fucking spear through your body.'"   

"Yeah, there was," I reply angrily, "but my angry words of defiance doesn't justify my _death_!"   

"Are _you_ really going to judge about anger getting the better of them?"   

I resist the urge to simultaneously slap him and scream at him, settling for shooting him a dirty look, "Oh, yes, so I'm bitchy to people when I'm in a pissy mood.  I don't, however, try to impale people for pissing me off!  That's a big fucking leap, Ninuk, and, in case you were concerned, it wouldn't have reached that point if I hadn't been surrounded through hostile means by five armed and dangerous woodland warriors and their magic white horseys with pointy fucking horns!"   

"You were on their land.  Their _stolen_ land."   

"Right, okay, Ninuk, very good.  I think we've made it perfectly clear that my people stole their land just like they stole yours, but I think you're letting emotions on this matter cloud your judgement.  And frankly, it's pissing me off to the point where I want to skewer you with a spear and a sword and any other weapon I can find.  I'm not a soldier or a scientist or some big shot from NAAF.  I'm a sixteen-year-old girl who was walking along the edge of a forest and doesn't appear even slightly armed or dangerous, especially in comparison to them."   

"You are seriously going to stand there and say they had no right to attack?"   

"And you're seriously gonna stand there and defend the fact that they did?"   

Ninuk remains silent and so do I, both of us reaching an impossible impasse.  Taking a deep breath, I square my shoulders and shake my head, suddenly more exhausted than I was five minutes ago.  It's not worth the fight, and, just like with Kennedy, I'm unwilling to give in.  How am I supposed to be friends with someone who expects me to lay down my life at the feet of people who singled me out and bullied me because I looked like weak prey.   

Rolling my eyes, I wrap my arms around myself, still shaking my head, and walk away, pausing just a few meters away to turn back to him, "By the way, I wasn't even the one that killed them.  It was some _thing_ with wicked sharp claws that likes to jump out of trees, just, you know, for your fucking information."   

Ninuk sighs, "Ana."   

I ignore him and continue walking, too pissed off to stop and go over this whole thing again.   

"Ana, wait," Ninuk tries again, but I keep going, wrapping my arms tighter around myself.  For a moment, I hear absolutely nothing, and the next thing I know, a pair of arms wrap around me, holding me still.  I try to keep walking to no avail, all the attempt succeeds in is getting me pulled tighter into Ninuk's chest; he laughs and leans down until his lips are just beside my ear.  I freeze while he laughs again, "Iren, Ana.  Sorry, they should not have attacked such an innocent, unassuming bystander such as yourself."   

Scoffing, I twist around as much as I can, bringing my hands up before pushing against his abdomen in the vain hope of freedom, "I know."   

Ninuk sighs and gives me a 'must you make this so hard' look that I ignore, continuing my attempts to get free until he yanks me closer, tightening his hold around me and pressing us as close together as we can possibly be.  I scowl into his chest, feeling like I'm in some kind of weird, living straight jacket...it wouldn't surprise me at this point.  "I should not have blamed you anyway; they are not exactly well-known for their mild manners, not that you're blameless," he offers me a charming smile.   

I return it with a glare, "I was just telling the truth."   

"Your version of 'just telling the truth' often leads people to want to throttle you," he remarks dryly.   

"The truth hurts."   

"Can you ever forgive me?"  He asks dramatically.   

"No," I reply, deadpanned.   

Ninuk smirks like this is somehow funny, "Please?"   

"No."   

"Pretty please?"  He blinks at me innocently, though his smirk completely ruins the angelic facade.   

"How about 'hell no'?"  I offer while he pouts, and I resist the urge smile, trying to keep my face serious.   

Ninuk smiles wickedly at me and presses his forehead against mine while I quirk an eyebrow at him, "Please?  I might even let you go."   

I open my mouth to respond, though I'm unsure what's gonna pop out when someone saves me.   

"And who says she wants you to let her go?"  This comes from a new, deeply accented voice I've never heard before.  I blush while Ninuk releases me abruptly, laughing and smirking while turning to the newcomer.   

A figure dismounts gracefully from the back of a gorgeous chestnut pegasus only a little smaller than Nierox that dances in place, not out of fear but just a simple excess of energy.  As soon as her rider lands with both feet on the ground, she's off sprinting across the canyon floor to Nierox who cocks his head at her before turning his attention back to grazing.   

The rider is almost as tall as Ninuk and reminds me some odd combination of Pippin and Legolas from Lord of the Rings.  The man is lithe and ridiculously graceful, seeming to float over the ground instead of walking on it like everyone else.  He has shaggy, dark hair that's slightly wavy and falls to his mid-back in a complex plait as well as violet eyes that seem to twinkle with mischief.  He also possesses an air of good humor that clings to him and is only reinforced by his impish, boyish smile.  Like Ninuk, he has small gauges and a shard of carved bone where most people on Earth put industrial bars, not mention a good eight or nine piercings curling up his earlobe from his gauges to the top of his ear.  Swirls and slashes of tattoos peek out from beneath his shirt.    

He grins at me, " _K'irech_."   

"Um...hi?"  I reply, offering him my odd, semi-circle wave.   

"So this is your little trainee?  You have been passing up on our optional sparring sessions to teach this one?"  He inclines his head at me while his eyes stay trained on Ninuk.  The question doesn't possess either accusation or incredulity; he just sounds bemused.   

Ninuk shakes his head and glances at me, "Ana, this is my closest friend, Iroal.  Iro, this is Anastasia."   

Iroal smiles at me warmly, "It _is_ a pleasure and an honor to meet you, Anastastia."   

I shift uncomfortably and frown at him, "What have _you_ been reading?"   

"He likes fairytales," Ninuk adds quickly in a conspiratorial tone.   

"You should read something else," I remark while Ninuk snickers.   

Iroal's smile just grows, "As you wish."   

Smiling, I shake my head and try to hold back laughter, "Oh, so you read _The Princess Bride_ too?"   

Ninuk groans, "What kind of a name is Buttercup?"   

"What kind of a name is 'Ninuk'?"   

"What kind of a name is 'Anastasia'?"   

I stick my tongue out at him before smiling cheekily, "The name of a Russian princess.  So bleh."  Ninuk rolls his eyes at my immaturity while I fight a smile.   

Iroal just laughs, "You two have a fascinating friendship."   

"You have a fascinating mind," Ninuk remarks.   

Feigning chest pains, Iroal's hand reaches up to his heart, face contorting in a grimace of faked injury, "Oh!  Ow, my friend, that hurt."  Ninuk blinks at him before Iroal rights himself, shaking his head and looking to me, "He is a bit stodgy if you ask me.  How do you stand my dear friend, the general, everyday for two days in a row?  I would rather be gutted by a _chupacabra_."   

My smile falls abruptly, "You call them chupacabras?  Those dogs that suck blood?"   

Frowning at me, Iroal nods, " _Avar_.  Why?"   

I blink before shrugging, "I-I just...we do too and _have_ on Earth, for a while.  It's weird, that's all."  I don't elaborate, but I don't really need to.  It's bizarre that two different groups of people from two different planets who have evolved totally and completely independently share a common name for a species that is known (if not exactly confirmed to exist) on both.  Ninuk frowns while Iroal tilts his head, studying me a moment before shrugging.  I shake the thoughts out of my head, "So, why is Iroal here, exactly?"   

"To help you spar, offensively," Ninuk informs me, suddenly all business again.   

"And why can't I just spar with you?"   

"If I do recall, _you_ were the one who said you didn't want to," he points out, smiling.   

"Because I always lose!"   

"Training with multiple people will help you get better anyway, and besides, you might actually have a shot at beating Iroal."   

The man narrows his eyes at Ninuk, "I resent that!"  He pauses before glancing over at me, "No offense, but I've been doing this for four years."   

I shrug, "None taken, but why do I have a chance at beating him?"   

"Iro is an archer, a very good archer, who's not exactly as up to par with his hand-to-hand combat as he should be; though, we all pretend not to notice because he's such a fantastic shot."   

Iroal rolls his eyes and waves off Ninuk's comment, "That's because enhanced marksmanship is my goddess-given gift."  He smirks before shrugging, "Fighting, on the other hand, close in combat, is far too messy and causes major malfunctions within my mind.  I seem to retreat into some kind of sensory overload."   

My gaze snaps to him, and I see Ninuk freeze, "Goddess given gift?"   

" _Avar_ , sweetheart, most everybody in our tribe gets one, be it a fully developed mental-ability, like Ninuk's, or just an exceptional affinity for something, like me and his grandmother, not so sure about the others since we do not particularly enjoy trading closely guarded secrets with enemy tribes, but, yes, most people develop a strong affinity with a part of their overactive mind that metastasizes into what we call the _Godraja Fïer_ or Goddess Gift.  The gift that we use to bring us closer to ourselves and our tribe."   

"And your goddess?"  I reply, peeking at Ninuk who has gone still, obviously aware that I have a growing desire to blow up at him.   

"Not necessarily," he gazes up through the branches for a moment before smiling at me, "we are not like your people.  Goddess is just the term we use to describe the bond between all living things, the balance between human and nature, the force that gives us life.  I thought you were teaching her; surely, you taught her that?"   

Ninuk set his jaw and nods, " _Avar_ , Iroal, I did tell her _that_."   

For a moment, Iroal pauses before his mouth shapes into an 'O' of understanding, "So I was not supposed to inform her about the other thing?"   

"No, I would have preferred if you had not," Ninuk says through clenched teeth.   

Iroal looks between us, "I apologize, but, perhaps next time, you could inform me of what I am and am not allowed to say, Ninuk.  I am no mind reader; I leave that to the _szekzet_."   

Ninuk scoffs, "She is no mindreader."   

"Not always, but the greatest were, in the legends anyway," Iroal comments, his eyes twinkling as he turns back to me with a smug smile.  "Do you feel more enlightened?"   

"I feel more anger towards your dear close friend but, looking beyond that, I guess," I respond while he laughs; Ninuk grimaces, not meeting my hostile gaze.   

"You could begin any day," Ninuk comments tersely to Iroal.   

I toss him an annoyed look, "You could start being honest any day."   

"I never lied to you," Ninuk snaps.   

I raise my eyebrows, "Oh no?  Spare me, Mr. 'No one in the tribe can do what I can'."   

Iroal sniggers, looking between the two of us, but wisely chooses to keep his comments to himself under Ninuk's threatening gaze.   

"No one can."   

"Are you kidding me, Ninuk?  You're trying to prove you're right based on fucking semantics?  I wasn't asking if anyone else was a fucking telekinetic; I was asking if everyone else were some kind of X-Men reject mutants.  You knew that, so don't even pretend."   

"Things were different then, and you were going to turn us in."   

"And what makes you think I'm not now?"   

"Should I come back later?"  Iroal asks.   

"Not now," I bark at him while Ninuk simultaneously growls his name in warning.   

"Well?"  Ninuk snaps out tersely, his face an expressionless mask, "Are you?"   

"Gonna report you?"  I ask, coming up short.     

The canyon is eerily silent, and I meet Ninuk's eyes tentatively, holding his gaze for a moment and letting my mind wrap around the question.  Unlike his face, his eyes aren't quite capable of hiding everything, and I can see the concern, worry, and sadness lurking in their depths.   

I sigh, "Of course not.  Besides, how exactly would I going to explain how I know?"   

Ninuk's tension seems to ease, and he offers me a slight smile, "The voices in your head?"   

I whack him in the stomach, shaking my head while my lips quirk into a half-smile, "That's funny.  Thank you for trying to get me committed."   

"Can we start now?"  Iroal inquires, looking between the two of us with knowing amusement.  I frown at him, but he shakes his head at me while Ninuk squats a little ways away, looking between the two of us.  His eyes linger on Iroal who's giving him the same knowing look that he gave me, but Ninuk's expression darkens before his eyes narrow on Iroal dangerously.  The man laughs and looks at me with raised eyebrows, "That's our cue, sunshine."   

Iroal lunges.

* * *

I collapse onto the grass, staring up through the canopy of trees and breathing heavily with a triumphant smile on my face; Iroal crumples a few meters away, shooting me a death glare.  Laughing, I stick my tongue out at him and try to catch my breath as I flick wisps of curls that had fallen out of my ponytail away from my face.  My eyes land on Ninuk who leans against a tree, looking between the two of us with pride and amusement on his face.  He meets my eyes, and my smile widens.   

"I won."   

"I'm so proud," Ninuk says it with dry amusement, but it's obvious he means it.  He smirks down at Iroal, "We know who is sparring with me during our Wednesday training, do we not, Iroal?  Taken out by a girl who has been in training for barely two months."   

Iroal scowls, "She's a fast learner."   

Ninuk shakes his head at Iroal's words, "You two started sparring together _yesterday_ , Iro.  Regardless of her skill for learning, she should not have been able to do what she did."   

"Ninuk, I'm telling you, that was ridiculous; she practically predicted my movements.  That's not possible," Iroal insists.   

"You are looking for connection where their isn't any, Iro.  Stop following Dierien and searching for signs where they do no exist," Ninuk rebukes him while I look between the two, thoroughly confused.   

Meeting my gaze, Ninuk nods, allowing me to ask the questions that are now rising to the tip of my tongue.   

"Who's Dierien?"   

"Chief priest of both Kepīloria and the whole Tstori empire," he remarks with a long sigh, sitting down beside me, leaning his back against a tree, and looking over at me with raised eyebrows, "Is that all?"   

Shooting him a 'don't you think you're funny' look, I shake my head, "Are there any female warriors in your tribe?"   

"Of course," Iroal answers.  "Not many, mind you, since they tend to wed young and most men want children, but there are quite a few considering.  Very few become _ūrul_ , like Ninuk," I open my mouth to ask about the word, but he holds up a hand and shakes his head.  "There's no translation.  If it makes sense, most become archers, trackers, or _lamentis_ , they work with their gifts and often hounds to fight.  Scary as hell those women are.  Ninuk's second, Saœr, is betrothed to one of those frightening women; personally, I'd prefer a wife that does not have the capacity to slaughter me silently while in bed."   

"What are you doing to make her so angry?"  I remark wryly.   

Iroal smirks at me while Ninuk laughs, "Do not fear, Iro, a woman like Liesun would not marry you anyway."   

"What's that supposed to mean?"  Iroal comments.   

"I believe he's saying you're not man enough for her," I inform him while Ninuk laughs again.   

Iroal tosses a pebble at him, but the pebble halts in midair, mere centimeters from his face.  Ninuk smirks at him, grabbing it from the air and lobbing it back.  Iroal narrows his eyes at Ninuk.   

"Perhaps 'a woman like Liesun' is not woman enough for me."  My mouth drops open while Ninuk shakes his head at Iroal like he's never heard anything so stupid.  "Not that she is not beautiful or anything—"   

"Nice save," I comment while Ninuk continues to shake his head at his friend.   

"I would simply prefer my future wife to cook, clean, and raise my children well as opposed to assist in raids, tenuous political negotiations, and wars.  Not that it is no place for a woman, just not for a woman that I can see myself with," Iroal shrugs while Ninuk just stares at him, bemused.   

I take a moment to sputter, offended but unsure of what to say before taking a deep breath and shaking my head, "Are you for real?  That's so sexist!"  Ninuk's head swings my way, his amusement obvious while Iroal just looks confused, "Cook and clean and raise your children?  Are you freaking serious?  I think I would kill any man who even suggested that's what he wanted from me for the rest of my life.  I mean, what else am I supposed to do with myself?  No, just, no."   

Iroal gives me a dry look, "Can you cook?"   

"Um...pasta," I admit sheepishly.   

"Can you clean?"   

"Does shoving all my clothes under my bed to sweep count as 'cleaning'?"   

"Do you like children?"   

"Um...I like children that leave at the end of the day to go home with their parents.  They seem to like love and attention, and I'm a selfish human being who doesn't really have the patience to give that to them all the fucking time," I admit.  

Smirking, Iroal grins at me, "Well, there you have it."   

"No," I argue with him, "it's still sexist.  What if she wants to have a job?  Or life?  Or friends?"   

Ninuk puts a hand on my wrist, pulling my glare away from Iroal, "I believe you are taking this too seriously.  He means no offense.  It is just that women in the tribe get married young because that is our culture.  They date.  They wed young.  They have children.  They raise those children, care for their husbands—and their husbands for them—and when the children are grown then they do as they please, be that working or taking on their hobbies full time.  It is not illegal for women to take on jobs after marriage, but it just is not common since there is really very little reason to.  Most men can provide for their families and take pleasure from do so, and for most women, it is a full time job to attend children, cook for the family, and clean the household; for those who find it not so, they do other things, get jobs, start businesses."   

I study him skeptically, "Do people get divorced?"   

"Yes and no," Ninuk states while I raise my eyebrows at him, crossing my arms over my chest; he smiles at me, "Honestly, Ana, women are not treated as weak, inferior, or lesser beings.  They are, in fact, probably better treated with the Tstori than with your people.  However, divorce is not _shameful_ , but it _is_ frowned upon, and it _is_ difficult to obtain.   It has to be granted by the _neebtille_ , the _szekzet_ , and the _lieru_.  Unlike with your people, there must be reasonable evidence to support the reason behind the claims.  Divorces are rare.  They do happen, but they do not happen over trivial, inconsequential matters."   

"No irreconcilable differences, huh?"  I muse.   

"That would be a no," Ninuk smirks at me.   

"Is cheating grounds for divorce?"  I ask before another thought strikes me, and I add, "Or are you going to blow my mind and say you believe in multiple wives."   

Iroal scoffs, "Our tribe does not believe in polygamy.  The Tstori views marriage as a scared union between two souls that is not to be taken lightly.  Other tribes do practice polygamy; the plains tribes used to before we conquered them and a few of the Northern tribes do.  I've also heard some of the Southern tribes do, though that may be purely out of self-preservation since most of their men freeze to death in the winter hunting parties."   

"Affairs are punishable by law.  Multiple offenses are grounds for divorce, but it rarely happens.  Most matches have to be approved by local _neebtilles_ and, often, the _szekzet_ is consulted to determine whether or not the match will last."   

"Not anymore," Iroal grumbles.   

I frown in confusion, "What does he mean?"   

Ninuk hesitates before sighing, "The _szekzet_ is, essentially, the most important person in the tribe.  The spiritual adviser, the adviser to the _lieru_ , an adviser for war, and oversees the priests and priestesses to make sure they do not become corrupt.  They are not chosen like the _lieru_.  They are found due to...circumstances, and there is only one, though they do appoint local-level assistants.  The districts surrounding the capital have local _neebtilles_ and _torzs_ who are essentially the districts leaders—"   

"They're like governors?"   

"Yes," Ninuk replies. "The _torzs_ make up half of Kepīloria's _neebtille_ , the other half is our local council who oversees local issues.  However, _szekzet_ is the only one with a job even remotely like such; the local acolytes of the _szekzet_ are called _psizets_ , they are chosen and trained by the _szekzet_ and have a connection that allows them to access the gifts of the _szekzet_.  Our _szekzet_ died nearly two years ago, and we have no replacement.  We cannot find our new _szekzet_ , and that has never happened before.  It is dangerous and can lead to anarchy especially since one cannot even be trained to temporarily assume the position because each and every _szekzet_ train themselves and are often assisted by their predecessor."   

"At the moment, it means that Dierien is running the show," Iroal mutters darkly.   

"And that's bad?"   

Ninuk is silent for a moment while Iroal turns to study him.  Finally, he sighs tiredly and runs a hand through his hair, "I am unsure as of yet."   

Iroal scoffs, and I frown at the two of them, "What are you gonna do?"  

"Fight," Ninuk comments.   

Iroal nods his head and frowns up at the sky, "And pray."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And half of the story posted in one day! I'm going to go now.


	12. Chapter Twelve

"This is ridiculous," I whisper-hiss at Pollux who shushes me simultaneously with all our other friends.   

_What have I gotten myself into?_

We all crouch lower, peering around the corner like the stalkers we all are, our eyes on the porcelain doll that is Asia Maodung.  It's an unfortunate name being that she's quite clearly of Asian descent, but, considering her mother is one of those new-age hipsters, I figure it could have been worse.  After all, regardless of her unfortunate name, she's not unfortunate looking.   

It seems to me that all Asians tend to peak in their late teens and early twenties.  That is, of course, when they've all got ridiculously perfect porcelain complexions, to-die-for, stick straight, silky hair, and look like they just stepped out of an anime, minus the big boobs which they, quite frankly, never have.  Asia the Asian is absolutely no different except that the Korean would-be beauty queen doesn't dress like an anime character but rather in pseudo 1940s outfits that seem oddly suited to her.  The most notable thing about her is that she may or may not be a lesbian, which is, of course, the reason we are doing a terrible job at spying.   

"I vote no," Nicci 'whispers' in the only way that Nicci can, which is to say, loudly.   

"Nicci," Xochitl hisses at her, "quiet."   

"Sorry," she manages in a hiss.   

"This is weird.  Can I go?"  Santiago inquires, and I meet his gaze in agreement but say nothing since they shush him anyway.  He sighs, "I don't think so.  She's too pretty."   

"Hey," Angela says, nudging him in the side.   

He flushes, "No offense, Angie."   

"Some taken," she remarks with a slight smile, letting him know she's kidding.   

"Sshhh!"  Pollux hisses at them rolling his eyes, "My gaydar is twitching."   

"I thought you said your gaydar doesn't pick up lesbians?"  Angela asks.   

"I thought you said bisexuals didn't _have_ gaydars?"  I question.   

He glares at us, "Shut up both of you, I'm trying to help."   

"Must we do this now?"  I groan.   

"Yes, Scrooge," Pollux snaps, "school is over in fifteen minutes, and Angela has yet to give her Valentine to Asia.  So zip it."   

"Why don't _I_ just give it to her?"  Xochitl suggests.   

"So people can think you're a lesbian?"  I frown at her.   

"Why doesn't Pollux just give it to her?"  Angela adds.   

"Because _everyone_ likes Pollux, and she might go into cardiac arrest if he gives her a Valentine," I reply while Pollux gives me a Cheshire Cat smile.   

"I have an idea," Xochitl says.  "Why doesn't Angela just give her the Valentine and see what happens?"   

"I see no problem with this," I comment.   

"Me either," Santiago adds.   

"No miscommunication either," Pollux muses.  "All in favor?"   

At once, five out of our six hands shoot up in the air, and Angela's eyes widen, "Wait, no."   

"Sorry, Angel, the tribe has spoken.  Show time," Pollux kisses her cheek before unceremoniously shoving her past the corner and in Asia's direction.  We conspicuously attempt to be inconspicuous as we walk together from behind the corner to congregate around an empty cluster of desks, pointedly not looking in the direction of a flustered Angela and an unassuming Asia.  Nicci, unable to resist temptation, peers over our heads to give them a blatant and ridiculously intense stare.   

Xochitl kicks her shin, "Stop it."   

I roll my eyes when she smiles sheepishly, holding up her hands in apologetic surrender mere seconds before she tries again.  Pollux sniggers while I just decide to distract, "So how was everyone's Valentine's Day?"   

"I got lots of candy!" Nicci says triumphantly, whipping out a bag as big as her head.  We all duck while she smiles sheepishly again.   

"We always give each other candy for holidays.  That so doesn't count," Xochitl rolls her eyes.   

Nicci pops a Jolly Rancher in her mouth, "Happy Birthday, Merry Christmas, etcetera bitch."   

Xochitl rolls her eyes and snickers before her face suddenly melts, "Quinn got me the cutest—"   

"Uh!  No!  We do not want to hear about your disgustingly awesome, mushy love life," Pollux remarks.   

"Amen," Santiago adds while I giggle.   

"You just jelly," Xochitl comments while I nod in assent, playing Devil's advocate.   

Pollux shoots me a dirty look, which I respond to by giggling some more and giving him an innocent smile.  He rolls his eyes and looks back at Xochitl, "What do I have to be 'jelly' of?  I'll have you know, I received _twenty-three_ valentines today."  He offers an impish grin, and I shake my head at him while Nicci gives him a disgusted look.   

"That's not a fair count.  You get valentines for both genders," Nicci argues.   

Shrugging, Pollux pops a lollipop in his mouth and smirks, "Not my fault you're all limited to only one gender."   

"And is one of them from he-who-must-not-be-named?"  I ask flippantly, though my eyes are narrowed on him suspiciously.   

Eyes flashing, my brother shoots me a sharp look, which no one catches, or, at least, no one comments on.  Painting on a charming smile, Pollux graces me with a dangerously benign smile.  "My dear sister," he purrs, "I had no idea Lord Voldemort was even attending this school."   

I toss Pollux an equally benevolent grin, the threat and anger obviously bubbling beneath the surface, "He doesn't.  Tom Riddle, on the other hand, is a much different story.  Such a _charming_ little killer isn't he?"  My brother's expression falls as he catches my reference to Nick Ashford breaking his heart and turning him into an emotional zombie for a full seventy-two hours before Jace and I managed to drag him out of his depression.  I know that the asshole probably gave my brother some sappy, heartfelt valentine that will put vain hope into my brother's far too sensitive heart, but I change the subject, unwilling to get into an argument, "And did you get one from my teddy bear?"   

A genuine smile splits across Pollux's face at my veiled allusion to his sweet and adorable boyfriend, "Of course."   

"Theodore Wallace," Nicci adds, "is a saint.  How does he not get jealous about your fan club?  You've got half this school in love with you!"   

Pollux grins cheekily while I scoff, "Whatever, that goes for Quinn too.  Xochitl, over here, has been asked out by how many guys this year?  Five?  Six?"  Xochitl grimaces and shakes her head while I smile innocently.   

"They are both secure in their manhood," Pollux informs us.   

"The real question is why your twin doesn't have a million boys chasing her.  I mean, you're so pretty," Santiago says.   

I scowl and cross my arms across my chest self-consciously, desperately wanting to change the subject, "They're too busy chasing my brother's tail...oh, and Xochitl."   

"Because she's a bitch," my brother says with deadpanned honesty.   

Santiago looks at him in shock, "That's so mean!"   

"What?  It's true, and she knows it," Pollux objects, and I shrug, unconcerned.  It's not like my bitchiness is exactly a 'new development'.  Everyone knows that I have issues and an attitude problem.  Pollux shakes his head, "I mean, we love her, sure.  But let's face it, she's an ice queen with daddy issues, trust issues, body image issues, and this whole aversion to touching.  You're skimpy with those hugs, honey."   

Smiling wickedly at my brother, I waggle my finger at him, " _You_ don't get to say anything about my lack of physicality when it comes to expressing my love."   

Pollux waves off my words, "We shared a womb.  _We're_ different."  I laugh but don't object while he continues, "Besides, she has this way of being mean to the people she cares about just to see whether or not they love her enough to tough it out.  She likes to test people's affections and play mind games; what's worse is that she doesn't even realize she does it.  And we're seriously asking why Micah Santori is the only guy willing to follow her around like a lost puppy?"   

Everyone is looking at my brother like they're shocked either at his assessment of me or at the fact that he had the gall to say them aloud.  I do neither, studying him silently and impassively, my mind flitting over his words and accepting them as pure, undeniable fact.  I can't exactly argue since I've known all those things about myself since sixth grade when I turned into a total bitch after nearly being kicked out of my elementary school in fifth grade for 'threatening' some girl because she had a crush on the same guy as me.  That same week, I'd gotten in-school lunch suspension for 'threatening' some kid who through a ball in my face (granted it was during dodgeball), but he was standing barely a few centimeters from me (I mean was it necessary to throw it in my _face_?  It's not like I was going anywhere).  It was sixth grade when the kicked puppy turned into a rabid bulldog, unwilling to be pushed around by anyone and unwilling to make anymore fair-weather friends.  It hit me then that if people could stand me at my worst, then they wouldn't betray me when I was at my best.  Pollux is the lone exception; I'm not exactly different with him, per se, but I trust him absolutely.   

"Well look at that," I drawl, pulling everyone's attention away from Pollux and his food-for-thought, "it looks like Pollux's gaydar was spot on.  Good call."   

My friends whirl their heads around to see Asia smiling coyly at Angela, twirling her long, black silk hair around her finger while her other hand held Angela's valentine.  Angela, meanwhile, has a light blush spreading across her cheeks as she nods at whatever Asia is saying.  She glances over at us and her blush deepens.  Asia follows her gaze, sees us all watching, and offers a dramatic wave; we all look away hastily just as the bell rings.   

I hop off the desk while Pollux loops his arm through mine, waving goodbye to our friends as we both toss our bags over our shoulders and make our way towards the exit.   

"Any plans with the teddy bear?"  I ask him, tilting my head to the side, eyes focusing for a moment on Nick and Julianne plastered together and playing tonsil hockey against the lockers.  Forcing myself not to choke in disgust, I turn my attention back to Pollux quickly.   

"Nope," Pollux sighs, "Theodore has to work."   

"He has a job?"  I ask, surprised; there isn't exactly an abundance of jobs to be had for teenagers around Eden.  It's no city teaming with bodegas, grocery stores, and outlet malls waiting for young teens who will work for minimum wage so they can afford to eat with their friends every week.  "Where the hell did he find that?"   

Giving me a strange look, Pollux narrows his eyes at me in disbelief, "Theodore's family owns a farm on the plains just south of the trading post."   

"There is no Wallace farm," I argue as we step outside, leaning against the stairs to wait for Jace.  "I would remember.  Moose and I ride out there all the time."   

Rolling his eyes, Pollux studies me, "His father's in the Navy back home.  His parents are divorced.  His mother remarried Oscar Jennings years ago just before they all picked up and moved to Eden.  They met on some weird online dating site or such and got married after meeting like twice."   

I wince, "Ouch.  I'd be pissed if I had to pick up and move to a new planet because Mom suddenly got the hots for some dude she barely even knew."   

"Tell me about it," Pollux shakes his head.  "Whatever.  Apparently there's something big going down at the farm today, and his stepdad texted him to say that he wants him to help out."   

"Bummer," I elbow him.  "No date for you."   

"I know," Pollux declares sadly  "What really sucks is that Ms. Mari is making fresh empanadas today.  But, sigh, I'll just have to go without."   

"Is there a reason you say 'sigh' instead of actually sighing?"  I tease him.   

Pollux smiles and sighs, simultaneously saying the word, "No, not really."  A smirk splits across his face as he looks over at me, "Why?  Does it bother you?"   

"Lux!  Ana!"   

We both turn to see Jace breaking free of a group of chittering little ten year olds, a huge smile across her face as she propels herself into Pollux's arms.  "Um...c-can I go hang out with the girls today?  Sylvia and Chloe invited me to go down with them to the diner and get empanadas.  Please?  Can I?  I'll be home before dark, I swear, and I'll have my phone on me the whole time."    

"See, everybody wants fucking empanadas," Pollux says, exasperated.   

I roll my eyes at him before looking at Jace, "Do you even have any money?"   

"I have the card," Jace replies, a pleading look in her eyes before she starts pouting.   

Raising an eyebrow, I cross my arms over my chest, "You really think _that_ will work on _me_?  I had to deal with _Pollux_ the first few years of my existence.  Your puppy dog pout does nothing."   

"Anastasia," she whines.   

Smiling, I glance behind her to where the two girls seem to be waiting for her, talking to each other with smiles, not smirks, and wearing clothes that cover most of the important parts of their bodies.  But I know my sister, looks can be deceiving.  I turn back to my sister's pleading face and sigh, "Let me get you some cash."   

"Yes!"   

"Eh," Pollux comments, and Jace's face drops apprehensively.  "I'll pay.  Now I have a legitimate excuse to go."   

Jace huffs, "I so don't need my big brother to spy on me."   

"Dude, it's not all about you," Pollux remarks.  "I want a fucking empanada, so sue me."  Jace rolls her eyes, clearly not believing him while he just shakes his head, "Fine, go, be off; I'll meet you there and escort you home after we both purchase and ingest Senorita Mariposa's delicious empanadas."   

Jace beams before turning around to go back to the girls, quickly disappearing into the dispersing crowd of kids.  Pollux and I lock gazes, both of our eyes shining with the same absurd happiness that Jace, who has spent so long as social butterfly with no one to socialize with, has finally found some friends, or so it would seem.  Pollux offers me his arm, and I take it.   

"So, my dear twin, would you be so kind as to be my Valentine's date?  I offer you empanadas, cherry coke, and tortilla chips with salsa, not that you like salsa, but I'm just saying."  I bite my lip guiltily, and he groans, "You're not ditching me too?"   

"I'm sorry," I say to him hastily even as a smile spreads across my lips.   

Pollux narrows his eyes, "No you're not, you lying little bitch."   

"Yeah, you're right.  As much as I love empanadas, I've got something much more exciting planned."   

"Please tell me that you're not abandoning your lonely twin to get beat up by that native that you're completely in love with."   

Flushing, I shoot my brother a dangerous glare, "I'm not in love with him."   

"Um-hm," Pollux replies, obviously unconvinced.  I open my mouth to argue when he holds up a hand and shakes his head, "Fine, 'enamored' since I know you don't believe teenagers can fall in love or whatever, whatever, whatever."   

"They can't," I reply shaking my head before going back to his original comment.  "He has a name.  It's Ninuk, in case you had a total brain fart and forgot.  And, no, I'm not.  Mrs. Heatherby wants me to take Bear out on a hack."   

"That puffball of a horse that you've been drooling over since you got here?"   

I gasp in feigned outrage, "Excuse me, dear brother, that 'puffball of a horse' is an Exmoor pony who happens to just be ridiculously adorable.  And I get to ride him!"  I squeal in delight.  Pollux presses his fingers into his ears and crosses his eyes while I just narrow my eyes at him, pausing at the crossroads between our house and the town.  I punch him lightly in the arm, "Later, love, have fun being dateless on Valentine's day."   

Scowling, Pollux sticks his tongue out at me, "Better than having a date with an animal.  And I can get any girl I want to, especially on Valentine's Day."   

"Uh-huh," I say nodding my head before suddenly shaking it like he shamed me.  "Keep it up and you'll start sounding more and more like that waste-of-space that is Carter Eric Coventry, seriously."   

Pollux shudders, "God forbid I start sounding like that womanizing pothead."   

"Amen," I reply with a laugh, walking backwards, away from him.   

"Don't go too far.  You don't have a phone!"  He scowls.   

I raise an eyebrow, "Then find my fucking purse you asswipe!  I want my books back anyway."  He waves me off, and I roll my eyes but sprinting home without another word.   

As usual, no one's there, and I hurry up the staircase, dropping the light backpack on its hook as I go by.  Lily sees me coming and runs off without pause, still ridiculously skittish, though I can't say I blame her considering her less than exceptional history with people, being a formerly battered kitten and all.   

Darting into my room, I stoop to give Demetri's sleeping form a kiss on the head, and the cat, deep in his rocklike slumber, doesn't stir in the slightest, his light snoring not even faltering.  Rolling my eyes, I discard my sweatshirt onto my bed and reach into my closet for clothes suited to riding; I'd wear pretty much anything on Moose—flip-flops, shorts, no helmet—because I trust the goofball Anglo-Arab with my life.  Bear, on the other hand, is both a mystery and, according to Mr. Heatherby, a handful; I won't take any ridiculous chances with him, especially since he's a _pony_ , which nearly guarantees him to be hotheaded and stubborn.   

Excited, I change quickly into a pair of thick black leggings, a thermal top, and riding boots, plaiting my hair with smooth efficiency.  I tuck a pair of borrowed riding gloves—a remnant from Mrs. Heatherby's younger years as a professional show jumper—into my helmet, fighting another ridiculous smile of sheer elation.  Glancing out the window, I hesitate before slipping back into my sweatshirt, crossing the room to grab my lip balm.   

There's a whooshing sound, and I turn to see Xerxes climbing in through the window, eyes on me and head cocked with interest.  In two months, the dragon has gone from the size of an iguana to a beast the length of an alligator with the height of a large dog.  He moves in and out as he pleases, a necessity once I realized that he eats far too much and is growing far too fast to be holed up in my room all day long waiting for me to feed him raw meat cutlets.  Xerxes immediately retracts his sharp onyx claws as he bounds from the windowsill to the floor, pausing to nuzzle my sleeping cat affectionately before training his emerald eyes on me, the pupils, large and circular, looking up at me innocently.  Xerxes pads over to me, butting his large, feline-shaped head into my leg.   

"You could have just asked," I grumble, rolling my eyes even as I smile and stroke the dragon's head.  My gaze skims the massive black and white striped dragon, eyes lingering on his growing wings that are nearly double the size of his body and tucked close to his side.  I give him one last affectionate pat before going to my bed to grab my helmet and gloves, Xerxes watches me carefully.  I smile at him, "I'll see you later, Xerxes.  Be good and wish me luck."   

The dragon huffs and shakes his head like this is the stupidest thing he's ever heard while Demetri just peeks up at me and yawns before drifting back to sleep.   

I ignore both of them and hurry out of the house, grabbing a bottle of water and a granola bar before darting out the back door and across the backyard.  A low but piercing squawk reaches my ears, and I pause in the tall grasses to look up at my window.  Demetri perches regally in the sill overlooking the no doubt picturesque view while Xerxes sits beside him, just his forelegs and head hanging out as he watches me warily.  I salute the two of them before heading off towards Heatherby Farms.   

The Farm itself sits on roughly sixty acres of beautiful, plentiful land shroud in tall, golden grasses.  The traditional little farmhouse that looks strikingly similar to my own family's house on a much smaller scale and far more rundown, the paint chipping and the windows covered in a layer of dirt.  The Heatherby's old Chevy is parked at an angle out front beside a rickety, ancient horse trailer.  Just behind the house lurks the massive barn, which is in much better shape than the family's actual dwelling and painted firetruck red.  White fences enclose multiple pastures that are usually full of cows and horses, a small chicken coop even rests at the very edge of the property.  And as I jog past the fields to the dirt driveway, snacking, I frown at the empty fields.   

Munching on my granola bar, I smile at Mr. Heatherby who stands on his porch smoking an electronic cigarette before ducking into the barn that is surprisingly lively.  Mrs. Heatherby stands on a milk crate, watching everyone through narrowed eyes and acting much the foreman her husband claims to be, ash blonde curls pointing every which way from beneath the rim on her worn baseball cap and small hands resting on her waist.  "Honestly, Timothy James Mooreallen," she snaps in her high-pitched, yet shockingly domineering tone, "do _try_ not to break anything _important_.  And _yes_ , that box in your arms counts as _important_.  Comprende?"  The man gives a terse nod, terror obvious on his face he shuffles off, and Mrs. Heatherby huffs, shaking her head before looking over her shoulder to see me standing there.  She grins, "There you are, honeybun!  I was beginning to think you weren't coming."   

I look at her, amused, "I'm early."   

"Well of _course_ you are," Mrs. Heatherby waves me off, and my smile just widens at the flighty woman.  "Come with me," she orders imperiously but cheerfully as she hops off the milk crate, scooping it up as she meanders through the barn traffic.  "I'm aware you're _perfectly_ _capable_ of tacking up your own horse, but I took the liberty.  I just need _both_ of you _out_ as soon as _humanly_ possible.  So much _traffic_ , you understand," she sniffs, shaking her head.  We stop at her relatively large pony's stall, and she opens the door to clip on his reins before handing them to me.   

Without a word, I take them, pulling on my helmet and stroking the pony's soft, furry muzzle while my eyes scan the barn interior, "Yeah, but what exactly is going on?"   

Mrs. Heatherby heaves a long-suffering sigh and shakes her head, "The _military_ , that's what.  I have no _idea_ what they're _doing_ , but they came by earlier _insisting_ that we shut down operations early.  Neither Elliot nor I paid them much attention.  But not an hour or two ago they _ordered_ us to close up shop _immediately_.  Now, as you can see all these jobs that usually happen in an _orderly_ and _gradual_ process are happening at once.  Animals being _fed_!  Tacking and equipment being _cleaned_!  _Tools_ being put away!  People _cleaning_!  Stress, stress, _stress_!  Honestly, and for _what_?"  She shakes her head.   

I lead the stocky, bay pony out of his stall and into the aisle way, ignoring the dirty look from a man lugging a heavy looking sack as he swerves to avoid us.  Mrs. Heatherby holds onto the reins as I check my stirrups before mounting, adjusting the reins quickly.  Sitting still, I let the horse dance underneath me, trying to get a first impression of him; he stills after a moment, huffing, and I play with his mass of thick black mane before looking down at Mrs. Heatherby.  She nods.   

"Have _fun_ , don't forget to return my _darling_ ," she tells me walking away, and I urge Bear to walk, just reaching the door when I hear her scream: "And where the _hell_ has my good-for- _nothing_ husband got to?"  I shake my head as I exit the barn, knowing that Mr. Heatherby would continue to play hookie after that yell.   

We move at a brisk walk, both Bear and I trying to get a feel for each other.  When I feel comfortable, I let him loose into a brisk trot, not quite sure whether I should trust the frisky little pony with a speed faster than that.  Together, we move across the plains, and, from what I can see, they are all empty; there is not an animal or worker in sight, though lights glow from the windows of nearly every home, barn, and warehouse.  I shake my head, wondering at the order.  It's barely four-thirty and most of these farms don't officially and completely stop work until late in the night; it's alarming and curious as to why the military is demanding that they turn in so early.  I frown, shaking my head and checking Bear back as his pace begins to quicken.   

Taking a deep breath, I focus on the pony, forcing my musings and concerns out of my head as we circle back to Heatherby the long way, letting myself get comfortable with the headstrong pony.  I hesitate before allowing him to dive headlong into a brusque canter, checking him back every now and then so he doesn't quite get away from me.  As we pass Jennings farm, I force him back to a trot, turning him in small circles to keep him from taking off while I stare at the farm, distracted.  Unlike the other farms I'd passed, the Jennings farm has no lights on whatsoever, leaving the farm appearing abandoned; I frown, walking Bear around to the front of the house.   

"Can I help you, missy?"  A low, gruff voice growls at us.   

Both Bear and I jump as my gaze turns to see a wizened man standing just outside of the shadowy lot between the farmhouse and the barn.  He's burly and aging with wispy graying hair, a load of stubble, a beer belly, and posture that would make my great-grandmother turn over in her grave.  However, it's his piercing gaze that makes me uncomfortable, and I swallow hard, shaking my head, "No sir.  I was...I just...I'll go."   

"You do that Miss Mikos," _and don't come back_.  He doesn't say the words, but he doesn't have to.  The implication is clear as crystal.   

I swallow hard and stroke Bear's neck with shaking hands, trying to calm down the pony who seems just as shaken as me.  Giving the man a hard nod, I whirl Bear around and nudge him into a canter.  My heart pounds as we just run, and I duck my head into Bear's thick mane unsure what to make of that bizarre exchange.  A chill spreads over me at the poorly veiled threat.  The fact that he'd said my name was just his way of saying 'I know who you are, I can find you'.   

I shiver and shake my head, squaring my shoulders and sitting up straight; blinking in surprise, I realize that in letting the pony have free reign of direction we've wondered into a part of the bayou-forest that I've never been in before.   

Reacting quickly, I pull him to a stop, looking all around me for any sign of civilization, but we're so deep in the forest that there's nothing.  Looking up, I gaze up through the thick canopies to see the sky blazing the brilliant blood-red of sunset; I sigh, wishing I had my phone to find out both the time and to have access to a digital compass.  Nervously, I maneuver Bear into an about-face before walking onwards.  Nothing looks familiar, and I have no idea where we're going, but we forge ahead anyway, the crimson sky slowly darkening to maroon.  I have no idea how long we'd been walking when I halt beside a slim ravine, letting Bear sip the water while I sigh, wishing I hadn't left my own water bottle sitting beside his stall.   

My head falls back, and I stare up through the leaves at the shockingly red sky.  Suddenly, several jets zoom past overhead in a distinct formation.  Frowning, I freeze, putting pressure on the spasmodic, nervous pony; the sound of helicopter blades shatter the serenity of the forest.  I see the vague shape appear in the sky, a powerful beam of light shooting from it.  My heart begins to pound, and Bear dances anxiously, feeding off my nerves.  I tense as the light shifts our way, breathing slightly when it doesn't quite break through the trees, but the relief is short lived when the sound of crackling leaves and twigs forces me to whip my gaze in the direction we're headed in.  Meters away, I spot motion, and I narrow my eyes as my blood suddenly goes cold.  Soldiers hurry through the forest, assault rifles in their hands.   

Bear backs away instinctively, and I follow his lead, yanking his head around with the reins and spurring him into a gallop.  Bear doesn't seem angered by my brash motions; he welcomes them, flying through the forest and narrowly avoiding the trees that get in his way, hopping over their fallen limbs.  
 

_If they catch us..._

I can't think about that.  Instead, I push Bear onward, the sound of the chopper above shredding my nerves, and I crouch low on Bear's back as if that would somehow help.   

The wind is rushing through my ears and blocking all other sounds save for the bleating of the copter's blades; Bear hears it before I do, ears swiveling as he tosses his head anxiously shying to the left instinctively as we continue forward.  My heart drops to my stomach, and, reluctantly, my gaze shifts to the right to see several large figures running parallel to us.  My breathing goes shallow.  Bear tosses his head again, and I notice the same thing on the left.  Quickly, my eyes shift back and forth between the figures, realizing that they're converging on us from either side.   

Someone shouts, and I feel what's about to happen.  Abruptly, I pull Bear into a stop, and the horse rears in alarm as several figures appear from behind the trees in front of us, spears and arrows trained on us.  Some are perched in the tree limbs while massive, vicious dogs growl at us from the ground by the feet of their masters.  The riders appear from between the trees, spears focused on us, and I try—and fail—to calm down the pony who's just as terrified as I am.   

Keeping the reins in one hand, I hold up my hands slightly, "Whoa, let's all just calm down."   

The end of my sentence gets cut off abruptly when there's a savage snarl a moment before a blur of white nimbly jumps from the trees, standing in front of me protectively.  Bear, strangely, doesn't shy away from the creature but moves closer.  Everyone seems to shift in shock and nervousness.  The grounded spear bearers hiss back at the creature, threateningly, brandishing their weapons at the creature.  It doesn't take the bait.  Instead, it strikes out at the spears, snarling.   

My eyes widen as it presses closer, whipping to the left to swipe a threatening paw at the riders.   

"Xerxes?"  I ask in alarm and surprise.   

The dragon glances at me before turning back to our attackers, muscles taut and ready to spring.  I slide off Bear, keeping the frightened pony's reins firmly in hand.  "Easy," I say to Xerxes, inching towards the protective, angry dragon.  I can hear the Tstori warriors talking to each other as I walk towards Xerxes, though my attention stays focused solely on the dragon.  "Relax," I say putting a hand on his neck, and he softens instantly, eyes trained on me.  "We're fine.  It's okay."   

Xerxes stops snarling and presses into my side eying the warriors warily while they reciprocate.   

" _Lieks_ ," someone says, and I look up to see one of the spear bearers hand her spear to a comrade before stepping forward slightly, stopping at Xerxes's growl.  She pauses, looking us over before glancing back up at the sound of the helicopter.  "You come with us."   

Panic rises in me, and I shake my head in denial, "Where?"   

She pauses, glancing at me, "Kepīloria."   

_Well, fuck._


	13. Chapter Thirteen

Terror does not offset fascination.   

Getting a glimpse of Kepīloria has been a lingering desire since the name first fell from Ninuk's lips all those weeks ago.  Learning about their culture is one thing, but seeing their city firsthand is quite another.  No one had been inside the capital city to my knowledge save for Dean, Nick, and Aidan, but they either didn't remember or didn't want to talk about it.  Interactions with the Tstori happened on neutral ground far from both Eden and the Tstori cities.  The first and only one that my people ever come across was referred to as Graer, and once we'd set foot in that town we had been stopped from setting foot in any others.   

The archers and most of the ground spearbearers had stayed behind; only the woman who had spoken to me in English had come along, riding behind one of the warrior's on their mount.  Bear and I ride with them, Xerxes flying just above me and circling protectively, the warriors alongside us, boxing us in and making it impossible to get away should I attempt it.   

The sounds of jets and helicopters doesn't fade as the light does, and I wonder if they're specifically looking for me or if something else has happened to cause the military to send out both jets _and_ soldiers.   

The further in we move, the more the terrain begins to resemble the bayou of Louisiana, the moist ground gurgling and splashing under hooves.  Foreign vines full of multi-colored flowers hang off the gnarled trees, their massive, mangled roots exposed in strange shapes and figures, creating archway and alcoves.  Small houses slowly become visible, placed sporadically in the distance with small, marshy fields that reminds me of both the Aztec floating gardens and the rice fields of China that I saw in the movie Mulan.  We move onward, no one sparing a glance at the children that run through the channel of dark water to crouch behind trees and peek at us as we go past.  A little boy meets my gaze with curiosity before his eyes find Xerxes and widen in alarm and excitement.   

The forest opens to reveal a wide intersection of dark water only about five feet across, and, just beyond the water, lays a township that easily rivals in size both Eden and Jericho put together.  Snorting in annoyance, the pterippi follow their riders instructions and wade through the knee-length dark water.  Bear, on the other hand, resists, dancing nervously at the edge, and I don't blame him.  Steeling myself, I dismount, ignoring the looks from the warriors, and lead Bear across, trying not to grimace at the waist-high cold water.  I mount again once we reach the shore.  Bear, disgruntled, tosses his head in irritation, and we continue on, riding quickly through the quiet town streets.   

In no time at all, we've passed through the town, reaching countryside again and riding through it speedily until we come to a wide strait, a long bridge stretching across it.  In the distance, I can see hundreds of lights flickering, and I swallow hard, glancing up at Xerxes before following the two riders ahead and racing across the sturdy but narrow bridge at a swift canter.  Following the example of the two in front of me, I slow just before reaching the end.   

My eyes widen on the massive walls of the city, ivy and vines climbing up them and nearly obscuring their detailed mosaics.  Swallowing hard, I follow warriors through the archway before my gaze takes in the city.   

Unlike the town we'd past through, the city is anything but quiet.  It's alive and, no doubt, sprawling, a maze of small side streets and close-quarter houses with vendors selling everything from pottery to fruit on the side of the streets.  Trees sprout left and right even in the middle of the streets; between buildings ravines and streams lace through the lanes in complex webs, small bumps of bridges built over them.  The cacophony of voices is low but omnipresent.  Bronze lanterns with shapes and patterns carved into them hang, giving a warm, glowing light to the city.  Floating green spaces are interspersed at random intervals, but greenery also hangs from window sills, roofs, and awnings as well as climbs up the sides of buildings, determined to be remembered.  The buildings themselves are anywhere from squat one story huts with clothe covering the doorway to three or four-story masterpieces with mosaics, carvings on the walls, and masterful balconies.   

Just ahead, a tall building rises up above the others, layers and tiers magnificent in both architectural design and facade.  It is full of balconies and windows with ivy and flowered vines crawling up the sides and suspended from archways and awnings, dangling into windows.  Mosaics decorate the exterior in glorious patterns.  The winding network of staircases are exposed leading to gardens and rooms.  A circular wall encompasses the whole structure, though it seems very loosely guarded, most likely on purpose; the warriors don't seem the type to be lax in their duties.   

We ride right inside the fortress, and my gaze shifts up to see bridges of stained glass criss-crossing above.  Our group moves deeper inside, the pathway morphing into a circle surrounding a massive empty room with intricate totem-pole reminiscent pillars holding up the roof.  The whole building is suspended above this little atrium, the night sky obscured by a single platform so high up that it seems worlds away.  However, there are several dark entranceways above as if made for something to fly into the atrium; I glance at the pterippi in front of me and realize that's probably exactly what they're made for.   

Our small party comes to a halt while Xerxes continues flying high above us, still circling predatorily.  The warriors dismount, and I follow suit reluctantly, stroking Bear to calm both him and myself and taking off my helmet, clipping it onto Bear's saddle.   

A man comes towards us with a large, dark bird perched on his arm; he spares me a curious glance before walking up to the woman who'd spoken to me earlier.  He speaks to her in their language, and she scowls but gives a terse nod, glancing back at me for a moment before walking off.  The warrior beside me takes Bear's reins from my hand and nods at me to follow the pair, and I swallow hard before doing just that.  Xerxes takes pity on me and lands to lope beside me, pressing close.   

As we walk further down a hall, I study the woman in front of me.  She's clearly a warrior, her coffee-colored skin scarred and stretched over clearly defined muscles.  Bands twist around her arms, some simply thin or thick bold lines and some patterns or shapes.  Her ears are both gauged and almost completely covered in earrings.  The woman also has spider bites, like the warriors who'd 'escorted' me here, and a stud in her nose like the other women I'd seen in the trading post months ago.  Her hair is cut short in a shaggy style, heavy blunt bang hanging into her face, a single short braid with beads threaded through it hanging down one side of her face.  Like all the warriors, she's dressed in a pair of fitted dark pants and boots, though she has on a fitted tube top with thick, plaited straps that cross-cross in the back, long strips of fabric hang down from it, dancing as she walks and only revealing glimpses of her flat stomach, belly button ring, and a jagged, crescent-shaped pink scar stretching from her ribcage to her hip.   

The pair turn at a massive, wide staircase that seems to go on forever, and I swallow both my objections and my fear, following them up wordlessly as my eyes trace the paintings on the walls that are eerily similar to the images that decorate the canyon.  I gulp, hesitating when I reach the last step.  Xerxes nudges me with his head, and I sigh, walking into the room.   

The space is a massive open hall with charcoal gray rock walls and a vaulted ceiling that dips and curves in a way that seems natural but is clearly intentional; the rock sparkles with the colored glint of thousands of tiny gemstones hidden inside its crevices.  Live, massive trees encircle the room, their branches sloping to dangle leaves and flowers; vines create a web over the ceiling above.  One wall is entirely made up of floor to ceiling windows, a railing decorated with a lush vines growing thin, bulbous, ethereally silver flowers I've never seen before.  Xerxes puts his head down to sniff the floor, which yanks my attention from above to below where a whole world awaits.  A thin, slate of some kind of translucent material yields the sight of a mossy ground underfoot, and I follow the thin thread of water streaming under my feet to a relatively large pond in the center of the room.   

The night air filters in from the large windows, and I look out, still rooted to the spot, to see an open night sky not obstructed by thick canopies or pollution.  Above, there is an endless sea of stars glinting from a never ending blackness, Aurora's two moons spilling soft, luminescent light over the whole city.  Said city is perfectly visible below, and, from the windows, I can see it spreading out for miles and miles, the yellow-orange glow of candlelights flickering in the distance and lighting the streets.   

A throat is cleared, and I turn my attention to the figures in the room for the first time.  I'm surprised to find that there are dozens, both men and women, all dressed in clothes similar to what I'd seen Ninuk and the women at the market wear except that these are different.  These people wear clothes that are adorned with fancy beading, bright colors, and golden threads,  jewelry hanging from their ears, necks, fingers, wrists, navels, and just about any other crevice of their upper body that they can actually decorate.  Nearly all of them sport tribal tattoos, but every single one has unique, spiraling crest stretching from the back of their hand up to their elbow in either a light or royal purple.   

I swallow hard and look away from the twenty or so people in the room, my gaze darting to where the warrior who'd escorted me now stands beside another I haven't seen before, his arm wrapped around her waist.  The man who'd escorted me here is watching me suspiciously while he chats with a flawless woman only a couple years older than myself.  She has long dark hair that falls to her waist in gentle waves, golden and emerald beads on the ends; she's tall and slender with a flawless complexion, piercing tawny eyes, and aristocratic bone structure.  However, I can tell straight off that she's an elitist bitch.  I'm not the greatest with first impressions (or second impressions), but this woman just radiates 'I'm a bitch' and has the countenance to match.  Not to mention she's practically dripping expensive gemstones and wearing a patterned crop top with off the shoulder sleeves and a long, flowing, floor-length skirt, showing off most of the skin on her upper body.  She purses her lips at me before shifting her attention back to the man speaking to her, shaking her head ever so slightly.   

Xerxes presses closer to my side as the a pair of doors I hadn't noticed on another wall fly open, presenting an aging man in lengthy, crisp white robe, his pudgy fingers covered in an impressive array of rings while an amethyst the size of a baby's fist hangs around his neck.  He's not exactly 'frightening' to behold since he's not particularly tall, has a sizable gut, a close-cropped beard and mustache, and a swirling silver sun tattoo covering his bald head, half of his face and neck, disappearing beneath his hooded, snowy robe.  However, there's a shrewd look in his dark, beetle like eyes that makes me more than a little agitated; he looks at me—and Xerxes—like he's secretly plotting our imminent demise.  He offers a feral smile, two diamond studs on either side of his lip glinting from behind his beard.   

"My friends," they offer him nods, some with genuine smiles, some fake, and some keep their faces impassive, "why have we all been called from our beds so late this night?"   

I am well aware he is talking in his accented English for my benefit, and I'm grateful but still wary.  Xerxes presses closer to my side, narrowing his eyes on the speaker.  The man who escorted me here starts talking in their language, the warrior woman interjecting every now and then while the robed man nods at what they're saying before looking at the crowd of men and women assembled.  A man shakes his head and practically spits his words angrily, and I frown just as they all start talking once, quickly and loudly.  The woman at the window doesn't speak but, instead, studies me intently, and I suppress a shudder and turn my attention back to the crowd.   

" _Mÿrič_!"  The robed man shouts, his deep voice booming throughout the room as he holds up his hands dramatically for silence.  I roll my eyes discreetly and meet Xerxes's gaze.   

 _Who is this guy?_   

"Child," his deep, musical voice echoes through the room, and my head snaps up, eyes locking on him as he takes a couple steps closer.  Xerxes growls and moves between us, baring his teeth to the man threateningly.  He halts, "Tell your pet there is no need for such threats."   

"That remains to be seen," I reply stoically.   

He chuckles even as his eyes flash dangerously, "Have you no faith?  We will not harm you."   

"I don't trust you."   

"Have we given you a reason not to?"   

"No, but Xerxes doesn't trust you.  I have faith in his instincts."   

The man's eyes narrow dangerously, but he clears his throat and shrugs, stepping away from me, though Xerxes doesn't relax in the slightest.   

"Where did you...get this _drækn_ from, hmm?  Can you tell me this?"   

"I found him."   

"Where?  Where does an _œksid_ find a _drækn_?"  A woman interjects from the group, glaring at me malevolently.   

"Now, now, Pierl, we will reach this conclusion but there's no need to unsettle our guest or her companion," the man purrs dangerously, his eyes lingering on Xerxes who snarls at him in response.   

"It is a valid question, Dierien.  Our people need answers!"  A man snaps from beside Pierl.   

"Where the did she 'find' a _drækn_?  Did she steal it?  Did her people steal it?"   

"This could give us the answer to where our _szekzet_ is.  We need answers now, and that _lieks œksid_ can give them to us!"   

"She might be—"   

"Don't be ridiculous.  _This œksid_ cannot be the _szekzet_ ," the woman by the window snaps at her fellows, rolling her eyes like they are the most annoying group she's ever encountered.   

" _Fįrelł_! All of you, silence," Dierien commands, and I frown, wondering why the hell his name seems so familiar.  He looks back at me, "Where did you find this creature?"   

My gaze meets Xerxes, and he inclines his head but presses closer to my legs, his attention on the people surrounding us, "I-I-I found him in the forest behind some bushes.  I didn't know what he was.  It was...he was in an egg at the time.  I thought it was a rock!" 

The woman scoffs in disbelief, waving a hand airily at my story, and several people echo her sentiment.   

"Bushes?!"   

"Did you pick it up off a dead body?"   

"Ew!"  I mumble to myself, grimacing and shaking my head.   

"One of their kind killed the predecessor and lifted the egg off the body when it was already in incubation," someone comments, and several people nod their heads while others sigh and roll their eyes as though these theories beyond stupid.   

"Why are we even entertaining these ideas?"  A man steps forward from the crowd shaking his head, "It's obvious what she is.  Denial will not change the facts.  The spirits have a plan."   

" _Godraja_ bless your soul, Veliu!  _This_ cannot be the plan.  The offspring of our oppressors cannot be their idea of a plan!"   

"It protects her!"  Veliu argues.   

"Beasts can be tamed," another man contends.   

A woman in her mid-twenties laughs derisively, "You are not honestly suggesting that an _œksid_ tamed a _drækn_!  That a tiny alien child managed to do in months what we could not do in hundreds of years.  _That_ , Morü, would be ludicrous."   

"More plausible than the alternative Veliu is suggesting, Ølymyniera," Morü sneers.   

"We are getting off subject, I presume," A man drawls lazily, looking to Dierien and nodding.  "Continue with your interrogation, priest."   

My eyes widen as Dierien looks back at me, and I school my expression as quickly as possible.   

Priest...chief priest... _this_ is the man that Ninuk and Iroal had been talking about, the one who they alluded is on some kind of a power trip.  I doubt as much as them that I am their _szekzet_ , but I know that, regardless, this man is dangerous.  Xerxes's instincts are correct.   

Dierien smiles at me benevolently, "When did you find this...rock?"   

I shrug, "I don't know, December."  He frowns at me, and I sigh, "Two months ago?  Maybe three?"   

"And it hatched for you?"   

"I mean, it hatched in my bedroom, if that's what you mean.  Whether or not it hatched for me is something only Xerxes can answer, and it seems to me like he isn't up for conversation today," I answer with a winning smile, patting Xerxes's back.  The priest's eyes look down at the dragon who snarls at him threateningly.   

"When?"   

"December 25.  Two months ago almost."   

"It cannot be argued," the man who'd encouraged my interrogation drones.   

"Anything can be argued, Agrit," the woman from the window says in a clipped, icy tone.   

Agrit shrugs looking bored, "Not with success, Kyrm."  He smiles at her roguishly before rolling his eyes and looking away.  Clearly, that pair are not on good terms.   

"Is this the girl that was involved in the Nirutū altercation?"  The man who'd escorted me to the room asks no one in particular.   

"Perhaps you should, I don't know, ask _her_ , Fiegr," Agrit rolls his eyes.   

Kyrm snorts delicately, "Can she communicate with intelligent beings?"   

I glare at her, "I'm not an imbecile."  She scoffs.  I clench my hands into fists while Xerxes growls at her in response to my anger.  Kyrm flinches, and I turn my attention to the man who'd asked the question, "Those bastards are volatile and infantile.  Picking weak targets that they believe can't fight back got them into trouble, and I refuse to claim responsibility."   

"What is _she_ doing here?"  Someone huffs in a shrilly voice, obviously extremely nervous, "Send her back.  I care very little for what she _could_ be or how she got the thing, just get her _out_."   

"I do not understand why you would bring an _œksid_ into the city anyway.  What if they report her missing?  What if they come looking for her?"   

"Are they looking for her?"  Ølymyniera inquires, looking at the two warriors.   

"I do not believe so.  Regardless, she would have had to have been detained until further notice for questioning.  We brought her to the _neebtille_ because the _drækn_ appeared to protect her," the woman answers.   

"And by who's orders are we detaining _œksid_?"  Morü snaps, "That is dangerous."   

"The reasons are with my superior, Morü, and _yours_ ," she says in a dangerously smooth voice.   

"You are quite the loyal soldier, are you not, Liesun?"  He replies while her eyes narrow.   

"I trust my commander."   

"You might, my dear, but why should I?"   

" _That_ is treason," the warrior beside her warns.   

"Not yet," Morü says with a cold smile.   

"Why are we detaining _œksid_ , Liesun.  And you would do well to answer _me_ ," Dierien cautions her.   

The warrior beside her narrows his eyes at the priest and wraps his arm tighter around her waist.  He, I'm assuming based on my conversation with Ninuk and Iroal, is Saœr, Liesun's betrothed and Ninuk's second-in-command.   

Liesun studies the priest silently for a moment, glancing at her fiancé who grits his teeth but inclines his head, ever so subtlely tipping his head a little to the left.  She barely bats an eyelash, but I see the glint in her eyes.  The slight head tip is a signal.   

She looks back at Dierien, "Very well, priest.  We are not detaining _œksid_.  We are detaining wanderers who get too close to the towns and cities by order of the commander.  Should they get too close we were to detain them for questioning.  As for the reason why, that remains with the commander.  It is _he_ you will have to ask."   

Dierien's eyes narrow on her, the polite smile never leaving his face, and Liesun meets his gaze unflinchingly, smug triumph glinting in her eyes.  He takes a breath, seeming to prepare for another inquiry when someone interrupts him, "And where did you find her?"   

"Racing on horseback far past where most turn back," Liesun replies.   

"She was running?"  Pierl asks with raised eyebrows.   

"It would appear so."   

"From whom?"   

"Who does she have to run from?  She has a _drækn_ by her side," a burly man shouts, shaking his head and shooting me a distrusting look.   

 _And I was supposed to know that some dragon that hatched in my room has become the fucking Saphira to my fucking Eragon and is protecting me from the Ra'zac?  First, I'm an imbecile.  Now, I'm supposed to be a fucking seer?  Make up your minds!_    

I think this all to myself, frustrated that I just can't seem to win with this bunch, but I don't take it too much to heart.  Despite what I'd allowed myself to believe about the Tstori government, it seems to be a snake's den full of cutthroats, backstabbers, and social climbers; I feel like I've been flung headlong into some kind of demented game of Wizard's Chess with everyone fighting for power...I don't know how to play chess though, and I certainly don't know how to muddle through court intrigues.  What can I say?  I'm a commoner at heart.   

"I thought we were all in agreement at her ineptitude?  Surely a 'tiny alien child' does not know that an egg that hatched in her bedroom would emotionally bond itself to her and follow her around for her own protection?  Or are we finally in admittance to what she is?"  Agrit adds.   

"That _œksid yexû_ is _not_ our _szekzet_!"  One man bellows angrily, his face turning bright red and the veins in his neck throbbing.   

Agrit looks over at him slowly, amused while Veliu tsks, "No need for insults, Gajip.  She is just a child."   

"An ignorant child, through no fault of her own, with not the slightest semblance of our culture," a woman declares in exasperation.  "Regardless of whether or not she is the _szekzet_ , she cannot remain here."   

"I think she knows far more than she lets on," Gajip says, glaring at me.   

"Honestly, Gaji, you are suspicious of a dog that wanders too far from its master; you are hardly one to judge," the exasperated woman comments, waving him off.   

Relief floods through me at her attempt to divert his shrewd gaze.  Clearly, running from the soldiers moving silently through the forest with guns had just lead me from the fire (knowing that my punishment for being caught in the forest would be severe) straight into the mouth of a gaping, spewing volcano (who knows what they'd do to me if they knew what I knew about them).  I keep quiet, knowing that playing the role of the ignorant, meek little girl would keep me safer than my bitchy, outspoken self.   

"Then what was she doing so far into our territory?  Surely she does not make a habit of wandering so far from home?"   

"Could she be a snatcher?"  Another asks.   

I frown, confused at the shift that occurs.   

"Don't be silly; we have had none this far north.  Besides, _that_ is no more than a silly Nirutū rumor," Veliu snaps.   

"Enough!"  Dierien barks, finally losing his temper, and everyone turns to look at him in alarm to find his piercing, venomous gaze locked entirely on Liesun.  She meets his gaze levelly, chin raised in defiance.  "I want answers, Liesun.  And you have them for me."   

"Not I, priest.  I am not authorized to give them, not to you."   

"I am the law," he hisses through clenched teeth.   

"You forget your place, minister," says one of the members of the _neebtille_."  He steps forward and watches the priest with a hard, impenetrable gaze.  "You are the vessel of the _godraja_ and the spirits.  The _szekzet_ is law."   

"You have no authority to make demands of me, priest," Liesun tells him.   

"Oh no?  And who among you can claim that they outrank me?  This tribe has no _szekzet_.  You forget _your_ place, warrior.  If I am not in charge here then who can claim that they are?"  He demands.   

Once again, the doors open, and all heads swivel at the entrance.   

"I am," the newcomer replies.   

My eyes widen, lowering my head to hide my face.  Xerxes relaxes ever so slightly as Ninuk strolls into the room casually.  I peek out of the corner of my eye and see that unlike everyone else, who seems to be in some kind of formal attire, Ninuk is dressed like a warrior with Iroal at his side.   

"Ninuk!"  Kyrm practically purrs warmly and joyfully.  I raise my eyebrows at the familiar tone while I see Agrit just shake his head and roll his eyes heavenward.   

"Kyrm," Ninuk says in a detached, formal tone.   

"Kind of you to show up, _skepi-lieru_ ," Morü comments dryly.   

"I apologize, but there are urgent matters that required my consideration," he says, his tone sharp.  Morü's face darkens even as he inclines his head.  "What is so dire that it required my immediate attention?"  Several people begin talking, but Ninuk silences them with a look, turning his head to look at Liesun and Saœr who step forward together.   

They bow their heads.  " _Tjalîr_ ," They mumble together, and he waves a hand for them to continue.  Liesun steps forward, "We found an _œksid_ wandering deep into the woods, running, it seems, from her own people, and we brought her in."   

"Pray tell why," Ninuk says, his tone impassive and bored.   

"Because she is in possession of a _drækn_ that protects her, _Tjalîr."_    

"Still, I do not understand why I was summoned."   

"The implications—" Dierien begins.   

"Are far from implications," Ninuk cuts him off sharply.  "You cannot seriously be encouraging the bickering over logistics and semantics on whether or not this is true, can you?"  Dierien remains silent, and I hear Ninuk pad across the floor to stand beside the priest.  He shakes his head and whispers in a low voice that no one save for himself and the priest are meant to hear, "What to do with a priest when he has less faith in the signs of the spirits than a common man?"  Dierien's face hardens, but Ninuk looks back at the assembled group of people before turning to face Xerxes and me.   

I freeze, keeping my head down, eyes trained on my boots while Xerxes bristles but doesn't growl.  Ninuk takes a few steps towards us, and I hear the room collectively take a breath, afraid, obviously, for his life so close to the hostile dragon.   

"Ninuk," Kyrm cautions, concern evident in her tone, but she falls silent when Xerxes butts his head against Ninuk's hand affectionately.   

Ninuk strokes his head and takes a step closer to me getting into my personal space; I stiffen as he grasps my chin tightly in his hand, forcing my head up to look him in the eye.  He takes a sharp breath, eyes widening for a minute, and I see shock, worry, and regret flit through them a moment before he closes them again like he's in pain and steps back.   

Ninuk's head immediately turns to Iroal who looks between the two of us, doing a double take when his gaze rests on me with realization.  His brown skin goes ashen as his mouth drops open in surprise.  Ninuk curses under his breath and gives his friend a hard glare before Iroal fruitlessly tries to pull himself together again.  Ninuk's golden eyed gaze meets mine again, and I can see the wheels turning in his head as he absently strokes my cheek with his thumb.   

Something flashes in his eyes before he releases me abruptly and whirls around, crossing his arms over his chest, eyes scanning the entirety of the room.  His eyes lock on mine for a minute, and it seems like he's apologizing silently as well as urging me to do...something.  He looks away, and Xerxes relaxes beside me, unnaturally calm now that Ninuk's here while I, on the other hand, have only grown more tense.   

"I do not understand what is being debated here," Ninuk shrugs.   

"An _œksid_ cannot be the _szekzet_!"  The nervous woman from before declares in a shrilly voice.   

Ninuk raises his eyebrows, "Why ever not?  Where is that written?"   

"It is not written.  It is understood," Gajip argues.   

"The spirits apparently must have misunderstood then, Gajip," Agrit adds with a shrug while Ninuk says nothing.   

"You cannot truly be suggesting that _she_ is our _szekzet_ ," Kyrm scoffs contemptuously.   

Ninuk looks at her sharply, "I do not believe anyone asked to hear your sniveling beliefs, Kyrm.  You would do well to hold your tongue on this matter in my presence."  The threat is clear.  She balks but looks down, thoroughly chastised.   

The exasperated woman speaks up, "I believe she is the _szekzet, skepi-lieru_.  However, the case may be, she cannot be _acting szekzet_.  She is an _œksid_ child.  She knows nothing of our ways," Iroal coughs to cover a laugh, and Ninuk shoots him a hard look, "and we cannot bring her here to train her."   

Ninuk inclines his head respectfully at the woman but studies at her musingly, "And why can we not teach her, Skålqa?"   

"Because to do so would bring the wrath of Eden down upon our heads!"  Pierl shouts in disbelief, "Are you seriously considering—?"   

"I am," Ninuk confirms.  "Our people need guidance.  They need a _szekzet_." 

"Yes, Ninuk, they need a _szekzet_ not a child ignorant of our customs that represents a world determined to tear us down!  She will be a curse, not a blessing!"  Kyrm adds, clearly unable to hold her tongue despite Ninuk's threat.   

Iroal shakes his head at her while Ninuk shoots her a look so dark I'm surprised she doesn't spontaneously combust into some kind of sporadic black hole.   

"Test me further tonight, Kyrm, I dare you," his voice is deceptively quiet and undeniably threatening. She swallows hard but tries to project defiance.  Ninuk stares at her coldly until Kyrm looks away, "Do not delude yourself into believing I harbor any sort of affection for you besides that of one living being to another.  Your place in my bed will not save you from my wrath should another word fall from your lips on this matter."   

My mouth fall open in surprise, but I compose myself as quickly as possible, irrationally angry and a little hurt at this revelation.  I swallow back the bitter taste in my mouth, completely thrown by where exactly the feeling came from, and shift my gaze to Agrit who's positively beaming at Ninuk's words.  Kyrm shoots Agrit a dirty look that he ignores while Iroal just shakes his head and gives Ninuk a meaningful look.  Ninuk blinks like he's coming out of a stupor before he pales slightly, looking from Iroal to Kyrm to me, and I look away, clenching my jaw and stroking my fingers over Xerxes's scales to calm me down.   

"I—" Ninuk begins when the screech of a bird flying through the window cuts him off.   

The bird is small and compact, resembling an owl though I've never seen one that looks like this: completely black with a burst of white and brown on the face and ice-tipped wings.  Ninuk holds out his arm, and it lands delicately, though its talons are clearly digging into Ninuk's skin.  Without flinching, he unfurls a long strip of parchment wrapped around the owl's leg, reading it swiftly before he looks up, frowning.  "Saœr," he says, and the man comes forward wordlessly.  They speak quietly to each other before the man nods, taking the owl from Ninuk and nodding at Liesun who follows him out of the room.   

"This matter does not need to be addressed tonight, especially since not everyone was present to begin with,"  Ninuk says, balling the paper tightly in his fist.  He walks to the door, pausing to look back at me apologetically.  He hesitates, his eyes never leaving mine as he calls Iroal's name softly.   

"I'll see to it, Ninuk," his friend promises.  Ninuk reluctantly looks at his friend, jaw clenched, and he nods once before turning to look at the neebtille that looks unconvinced and angered by this turn of events.   

"This issue will be called back, but there is far too much demanding my attention tonight, and I won't keep her here.  The last thing we need right now is a war with the œksid.  In this matter, I will not falter.  This meeting is suspended until such time as it can be looked at again; regardless, it is my belief you all need time to think this over."  The majority of the neebtille looks disgruntled but stifle their objections.  Ninuk gives me one last long, unreadable glance before sweeping from the room.    

Iroal makes his way to my side, "Lets get you home, Ana."

A cold feeling settles in the pit of my stomach.  Somehow, I think doubt I'll find solace there.  It's far too late for that.


	14. Chapter Fourteen

My internal debate on whether or not to actually meet Ninuk on the Sunday after, arguably, the worst Valentine's Day of my entire life hinged on two things: Pollux's opinion on the subject (after he had all the facts) and whether or not my parents would let any of us out of the house.  It was a little unsettling to embrace the realization that of all the things that would decide whether or not I chose to go, not one of them included 'I', 'me', or 'my'.  The part of me that actually has a clue what goes on inside my brain seems to already know that if I was the only one I'd have to answer to, then it would have been a no-brainer.  
      
Mom had been home by the time I'd been dropped at my back doorstep by a rather grim looking Iroal after returning an exhausted, anxious Bear.  Dad, on the other hand, had been 'working late', which meant that something big was going down that neither of them had the slightest inclination of telling us until it leaked to the local news channel.  However, she'd been passed out on the couch, the situation—whatever it was—obviously having exhausted her to the point where sleep had come swiftly and permanently.  The woman had been curled in a ball, an afghan partially draped on top of her in a lump, and she was still dressed in a pair work pants, her button down open but on, revealing her pale pink camisole, and Betty Boop socks still covering her feet.  She hadn't stirred in the slightest when I'd come in, either because of her sheer depth of sleep or because the television had been loudly playing reruns of the Housewives reality show, which had managed to woo audiences from its inception in 2006, nearly one hundred years earlier...living proof that some fads just don't die.  
      
Pollux, though, had been waiting up for me, freaked beyond belief for my sanity and health ever since several Marines had shuffled into diner and told everyone to get home as fast as they could and stay there as a safety precaution.  He had practically attacked me the moment I'd walked through my door before beginning a Spanish Inquisition that rivaled the one I'd faced only hours earlier in Kepīloria.  To that, he'd declared that he wouldn't be "nearly as worried if you had your phone like every other civilized person," and I'd gently reminded him that I'd "have one if you found the purse of mine that you lost weeks ago."  
      
The two of us, both shaken and nerve-wracked, had done what we'd done since childhood every time we were afraid: we'd turn on the radio (to cover the sound of helicopters and jets circling above as well as Humvees and soldiers moving on the ground) and cuddled in bed together with our heads and knees pressed against each other like we'd never left the womb.  Demetri, as usual, curled between us to steal both our body heats while Xerxes laid on the ground just beside the bed.  
      
Saturday had been mandatory lockdown, no one allowed to leave their houses, though mom still refused to share the 'why' in that particular scenario.  We'd spent the whole morning doing menial chores before playing nearly every board game in the house and watching the entire Harry Potter movie collection as well as The Lord of the Rings Trilogy, including _all_ the Hobbit remakes.  I drew the line at Stars Wars though, much to my brother's dismay.  
      
Getting out of the house was a hassle, more due to my brother's over protectiveness than to my mother's.  She was jittery about it but waved me off telling me to be careful and not to venture to close to the outskirts of town.  Pollux had looked like I'd just asked him to amputate my heart and serve it for supper; he'd shaken his head and very eloquently declared "hell no."  To which, I'd replied that his opinion held very little weight before taking off for the Heatherbys.  It was a relief to get out of the house, away from my family, and acquire some fresh air.  It was an even greater relief to climb back into Moose's saddle since I trusted the big goofball enough not to spook at every little sound and sight.  
      
Sitting on the very edge of the sheer cliff face, legs dangling over the side, I watch the choppy waves crash against the shore, the harshness of the water mirroring the dark gaggle of clouds that cover the sky above.  I frown and lean back against Xerxes who'd appeared as soon as Moose and I abandoned the open skies in town to move like shadows through the forest.  Moose grazes happily only a few feet away while I wait at the Landing without the slightest idea of whether or not he's actually going to show.  
      
It doesn't take long before I hear branches and leaves crackle followed by Moose nickering a low greeting, and I sigh, running my fingers over the ridges of Xerxes's scales not bothering to look behind me.  I know he's there.  I can feel his gaze on me and his presence all around.  It's pathetic, but it's true.  Still, I have hope that the more I ignore it, the more my crush on Ninuk will diminish.  
      
The realization had come on Saturday when Pollux and I had been discussing The Incident, as we'd taken to calling it, and I'd unwisely brought up the subject of Kyrm.  
      
 _Pollux grins, "Kyrm, huh?  The boy has a girlfriend."_  
  
 _"More like bed buddy," I respond, rolling my eyes and popping some more popcorn into my mouth, eyes never straying from the screen in front of me.  Pollux remains oddly silent, and I turn to see him studying me with an odd look on his face.  I raise an eyebrow at him.  "What?"  I demand with an accompanying eye roll that he ignores pointedly, a smug smile spreading over his face, "If you don't tell me what's got you grinning like an idiot–"_  
  
 _"You're jealous," he hisses at me with a wide smile._  
  
 _"No, I'm—"_  
  
 _"You fucking_ like _him," he says, beaming._  
      
 _I open my mouth to deny it, but I meet my brother's eyes that are ordering me not to lie to him and nothing comes out.  My eyes widen, and I shake my head, "I-I can't like Ninuk.  That's...I just...no.  Pollux.  No."_  
  
 _"You poor thing," Pollux shakes his head, kissing my temple when I look at him desperately._  
  
 _"Don't patronize me, Lux.  He's...we're...I just can't like him Pollux.  He's bad news, at least, for me anyway.  Besides, he'll never see me like that.  Why do I only ever have an attraction to completely unattainable men?"_  
  
 _Pollux shrugs, "Sorry, love, but you've either got to tell him or try to get over him."_  
      
I've chosen the latter path, and I'm determined to stick with it.  
      
"You came," he breathes like this is a relief, and he doubted that I would.  
      
"Eden was on lockdown yesterday," I reply.  
      
"I know."  I don't ask how since I'm not sure I really want to know or even if he'd tell me.  
      
"Why?  What did you do?"  It's a demand, but the question comes out dispassionately as if I don't care about the answer.  
      
Ninuk sighs, " _We_ did nothing.  The soldiers at Jericho launched an attack on the Nirutū to try to push them further back into the woodlands away from the border.  The attempt to subdue them lead to a battle, and the Jericho soldiers leveled several of the Nirutū towns and cities, burning them—and parts of the forest—to the ground in order to win.  The helicopters were looking for refugees, and I believe the jets were acting as air assault on their warriors."  
      
"And the soldiers in the woods?"  
      
"I believe they wanted to make sure that we did not interfere."  
      
"And would you have?"  Ninuk is silent, and I twist around to look at him, "If they hadn't been in the forests and air would you have assisted the Nirutū?"  
      
Ninuk meets my gaze and hesitates, obviously torn between whether or not to say something.  I shake my head and get to my feet, ready to walk away when he finally speaks, "We would not have laid waste to Eden, which they were expecting.  And I do not believe our _lieru_ would have condoned lending aid.  However, if it had been my decision, I would have sent Tstori to protect the civilians whose homes and lives were brutalized by those soldiers."  
      
I nod, swaying slightly as a heavy wind knocks into me.  Ninuk tenses but doesn't move from his usual spot as I regain my balance; Xerxes watches me warily.  
      
"Is it my fault?  Did the soldiers attack the Nirutū because of what happened to me?"  
      
"Ana—"  
      
"Is it?"  
      
"It's probable, but they might have simply gotten fed up with the Nirutū's constant attempts to overrun the city.  Pissing them off was not the smartest move on their part, and that attack is the fruits of their own labor, not yours," Ninuk remarks gently.  
      
I don't entirely believe him, and the guilt gnaws at my stomach.  Wordlessly, I look back out over the dark ocean, swaying once again as another gust slams into me.  Xerxes growls at me, gripping onto my fraying jeans with his teeth and giving me a pleading look.  
      
"You could fall," Ninuk says to me harshly, and I glance back at him to see the concern for me in his eyes.  
      
I shrug, "I know."  
      
Ninuk sighs looking drained and completely lost.  He runs a hand through his thick hair before his eyes meet mine again, resolute, "I won't let you, you know."  
      
Nodding, I purse my lips and look back over the side, trying to ignore the dizziness that comes over me as I look down at the sea below, "I do know.  I think you've said that to me before."  
      
Smiling slightly, Ninuk nods, "Probably."  I move away from the ledge, patting Xerxes on the head comfortingly; his tension draining as I move away from the dangerous ledge.  Ninuk sighs, "Ana—"  
      
A crash shatters our peace, and we both move quickly towards where the sound came from.  Ninuk peers around the tree, keeping me behind him, and he moves quickly, grabbing something and slamming it against a tree opposite us, his eyes hard and narrowed.  
      
"Calm down," Pollux instructs, his eyes wide and alarmed.  
      
"Pollux?"  I ask in confusion.  
      
"You know him?"  Ninuk inquires brusquely.  
      
I frown, crossing my arms over my chest and glaring at my brother, debating whether or not I should actually protect his hide.  Sighing, I nod and roll my eyes, "Yeah, this moron is my twin."  
      
Ninuk raises an eyebrow, looking between us before releasing him abruptly, "I'm Ninuk."  He tells my brother with an amused smile.  
      
"Pollux," he replies cheerfully.  
      
"Annoyed," I add, stalking up to my brother.  "What are you doing here?"  
      
"Following you, obviously."  
      
Shaking his head, Ninuk laughs, ignoring the dark look that I shoot him, "Why?"  
      
"Because I don't know about this anymore, Ana.  _Two_ near death experiences, one attempted kidnap, an assault, and one _actual_ legitimate kidnap.  Come on, Ana!  Even you're not this crazy.  How many times do you think you can flirt with danger before you actually get hurt?"  Pollux is worried, terrified for me; I can see it lurking in the back of his eyes.  
      
Hesitating, I stare at him guiltily tempted to follow him home so that I can get away from Ninuk and ease my brother's worry.  I've never seen him so serious, and it's worrisome to say the least.  I sigh, torn, when Ninuk breaks my reverie, "Nothing will happen to her."  Both my brother and I turn our attention to Ninuk who doesn't look at me as he walks passed me to stand in front of my brother, "I'll take care of her."  
      
Pollux raises an eyebrow, "Why should I trust you with my twin, huh?  I don't even know you."  
      
The two men I care about most in the world stand across from each other, arms crossed over their chest, eye-to-eye, having some kind of weird silent conversation.  I look at Xerxes with raised eyebrows, and the dragon huffs, pressing its head into my leg.  After a moment, Pollux starts to smirk before shaking his head.  
      
"Well, fuck me.  Best of luck to you, then, but I swear that if _anything_ happens to my twin, I'll hunt you down and not even the combined strength of every tribe on this planet will be able to save you from me.  Got it?"  
      
"Nothing will happen to her, I swear it," Ninuk tells my brother fervently while I flounder in my confusion, looking between the two of them, wondering what in the hell just happened.  
      
"Oh I believe you," Pollux says with a disbelieving laugh and a shake of his head, "but I still worry."  
      
"I understand," Ninuk replies softly, and they both glance at me.  I freeze, looking between the two of them incredulously.  Ninuk clears his throat, "I'll bring her back in one piece, Pollux."  
      
"What the hell just happened?"  I whisper to my brother as he walks over to me.  
      
Pollux grins impishly and shakes his head, kissing my forehead, "One day you'll understand.  When you're a big girl."  I smack him while he laughs, dancing out of the way.  He salutes us as he walks back towards town, grabbing a hold of Moose's reins as he goes, "Have fun kids!"  
      
I stand there, watching him disappear into the forest, confused, when it hits me that he stole my horse.  "Wait—" I begin, walking towards where I'd last seen him; Ninuk grabs my wrist, stopping me.  I jump, shocked to find him so close to me.  
      
"You won't need Moose," he says to me, towing me away.  
      
"But...I...what just happened?"  I plead, desperately looking for an explanation about that odd exchange.  
      
Ninuk smirks and shakes his head, "That is between your brother and me."  
      
I scowl, "That's what I'm afraid of."  Laughing, Ninuk mounts smoothly and effortlessly, Nierox tossing his head and stamping his foot before peering down at Xerxes.  Ninuk holds out a hand, and I hesitate, not quite sure if I trust him as much as my brother seems to, especially after what happened Friday night, "And where are we going?"  
      
"Ana," Ninuk sighs, and I look at him impassively, waiting, "I know that you're a little thrown right now, but just trust me please."  After a moment's hesitation, I put my hand in his, and he swings me up onto Nierox's back, glancing over his shoulder to grin at me, "Better hold on."  
      
I barely have time to wrap my arms around his waist before Nierox takes off, galloping across the small clearing and straight for the cliff.  Logically, I know that the creature has wings, and we're not going to fall to our deaths.  Regardless, my stomach seems to fall, my heart pounds wildly, and my arms squeeze Ninuk's waist tightly in a vice-like grip.  Still, I force my eyes open as Nierox leaps agilely and fearlessly off of the cliff face, wings spreading and beating, keeping us in the air instead of hurling to our deaths in the sea below.  I exhale with relief while Ninuk laughs.  
      
Nierox turns around and flies higher and faster through the air while Xerxes glides smoothly beside us, twirling and flipping around lazily.  I laugh at the dragon, shaking my head at his show-off behavior and resting my cheek against Ninuk's back as I watch the trees blur below us.  Behind, I can just see Eden rising up, its drab buildings appearing unnatural in comparison to all the gorgeous natural beauty surrounding it.  Sighing, I shake my head and look away trying not to think about that.  
      
It's just how we are, just how we build.  We take over our surroundings instead of becoming a part of them like the Tstori.  Our city stands stark and perverse, an artificial destroyer of the nature surrounding it, poisoning the land that it sits on as opposed to the Tstori cities.  Even massive and thriving Kepīloria manages to become a part of the forest, conforming instead of destroying, made with renewable materials from the forest and incorporating the land that they built on, letting the ravines continue running through the city and allowing trees grow any place they want to, planting gardens and forests on buildings.  The palace peeks out from the forest, rising above the other trees, and yet, it isn't obviously a building, looking more like a mountain peak, rising above the tree line, than a palatial skyscraper.  
      
Nierox veers suddenly, dropping altitude quickly and abruptly before spreading his wings again, leveling out and hovering a moment.  He starts spinning around slowly in a circle, moving lower and lower in a downward spiral.  I shake my head and close my eyes, pressing my face in between Ninuk's shoulder blades, trying to dispel my dizziness.  His hand covers mine and squeezes it lightly.  I take a deep, shaky breath squeezing my eyes tighter, remaining still even when I feel the leaves brush my arm and the temperature drop slightly as we move beneath the canopy.  Nierox lands heavily but doesn't stop, breaking into a brisk canter while simultaneously tucking his broad wings to his side.  
      
A low squawk reaches my ears, and I peek upwards to see Xerxes zooming along above us lazily, staring down at me with wide eyes.  He cocks his head at me and blinks; I shoot him a quick smile.  Nierox slows and prances for a moment before huffing and tossing his head, gingerly wading out into water.  Surprised, I lean over, looking past Ninuk to see the small, quiet town I'd briefly passed through Friday looming ahead of us, proving far cuter and more charming in the daylight than it had been in the dark.  Nierox trots out of the water and onto the shore, holding up his tail and head angrily.  Ninuk shakes his head and mumbles something under his breath, patting Nierox's shoulder affectionately as we walk up the shore and into the town.  Xerxes shoots me a long glance before moving higher into the sky until all he appears as is a vague shadow.  
      
Sighing, I study my surroundings with interest as we walk over the dirt road.  The houses are all shapes and sizes with vines, ivy, and honeysuckle climbing the walls and creating delicate webbed patterns.  The homes are all relatively the same size, some attached while others are stand-alone, creating small maze-like alleys behind the buildings.  Like in the city, small ravines run through the streets, trees sprouting haphazardly, some even sprouting from the center of homes.  Kids chase each other through the roads, laughing and yelling, while men and women roll their eyes but chuckle at their antics, weaving between the kids and continuing on their ways.  
      
On all sides, people pass by with clay jars and pots, images carved into the outsides.  Dogs run free and wild through the streets while cats perch delicately on the windowsills, stretching out and grooming themselves lazily in the sun.  People kneel in small gardens outside their homes, harvesting herbs and vegetables or else pruning their flowers.  We turn and walk down the road slowly, men and women waving cheerfully at Ninuk who nods and acknowledges them all kindly, continuing carefully down the not quite busy yet not quite empty streets.  Slowly, the noise begins to grow, and I peek down a large street to find a bazaar running parallel to us with vendors selling pottery, fruits, clothing, jewelry, and one man even holding up a large black snake that curls around his wrist, offering the serpent to shoppers in the crowd.  
      
I raise an eyebrow, and we turn again, moving away from the bazaar and down a quieter street, Nierox slowing instinctually.  I lean back and look around at the charming Tstori equivalent of suburbia, "Where are we?"  
      
"Graer," Ninuk answers, "this is where I was born."  
      
Somehow it surprises me that someone as battle-hardened and intimidating as Ninuk grew up in a charming, adorable, family-friendly village, but, then, I suppose he hadn't always been quite so tough-as-nails and serious.  
      
We come to a stop outside of a two-story building, completely covered in an array of ivy, that's not lacking in windows.  A woven blanket hangs in the doorway, flowing in the breeze, and a small patch of garden is on either side of the house, not fenced in like gardens are back home but free, a cultivated version of natural earth.  I slide off Nierox's back, studying the house like it's a sample under a microscope while Ninuk dismounts and pulls off the pterippi's garb, stirrup-less saddle, and halter before patting Nierox's neck and turning to face the house.  
      
A massive, shaggy black dog bounds out of the house, barking, and Nierox whinnies seeming more annoyed than scared, before shaking his head and trotting around the side of the house.  At the noise, a head pokes up from behind the jungle of greenery in the garden, looking around in alarm before focusing on Ninuk.  The figure gasps, pushing her mass of hair out of her face and grinning.  
      
"Ninuk!"  She screams joyfully, hopping up from the garden and lobbing herself at him.  The girl wraps her arms around his waist while he chuckles and listens to her prattling on in their native language.  She wipes the dirt from her cheeks, only succeeding in smearing it more before shrugging it off and taking Nierox's tack from Ninuk's hands and resting it on the window sill.  
      
"Khione, Khione, slow down," he laughs, looking back at me with raised eyebrows, the amusement clear on his face.  
      
I recognize the little girl as the one I'd seen at the trading post months ago.  Up close, I can see the resemblance she bears to her older brother with their strikingly similar facial features, ridiculously thick hair, and golden eyes.  She seems about the same age as Jace, though I'd thought her younger considering how petite she is.  Sighing, she rolls her eyes and glares at Ninuk, "Why are you making me 'practice my English' like _ryzrl_ and _öny_.  I practice it enough in the mornings, no?  And why are you back here?  You are usually gone all day!  Forget it.  I am glad you came home, and so will be _rya_."  
      
Ninuk shakes his head and opens his mouth to reply when she grabs his hand to tow him inside.  He looks back at me when Khione slams to a stop, staring at me with a rapt, jovial expression.  Silently, he looks between us before sighing, "Khione—"  
      
"You brought home a _lieks_!  Is this _the_ girl you've been going on and on and on about that _öny_ said you should—"  
      
"That's quite enough Khione," Ninuk cuts her off while I blush for no reason, looking between the two siblings.  "Ana, this is my evil little sister, Khione.  Khi, this is Ana, the new _szekzet_."  
      
Khione's mouth drops open, " _You're_ our _szekzet_?"  
      
I shrug uncomfortably, "So Ninuk claims."  
      
The girl looks between the two of us, shaking her head and pursing her lips together as if that's gonna keep her from having a freak out.  She bounces on the balls of her feet, locking her gaze on Ninuk, "Well, you are trouble, no, _nuka_?"  She smiles at me anyway, letting out an excited squeal and babbling at Ninuk who looks a little sick before squealing again and running into the house yelling " _Rya_!  _Rya_!" as she goes.  
      
Ninuk sighs and looks back at me with a sheepish smile, "I think that went well."  
      
"What just happened?"  I ask, completely lost as I walk towards him.  
      
Laughing, he takes my hand and walks beside me, "Khione is very excitable.  But what did you miss?"  
      
"Most of that whole exchange," I admit with a slight smile.  
      
" _Nept_ ," Ninuk says, unconvinced, "You are smarter than you give yourself credit for."  
      
"Oh thank you," I say dramatically, laughing slightly before nodding, "the words then."  
      
"Right, ' _nuka_ ' is brother.  ' _Öny_ ' is like...grandmother, though the literal translation is closer to 'elder', and it's commonly used as a title to an elderly person.  ' _Ryzrl_ ' is mother, and ' _rya_ ' is just a shortened form of _ryzrl_."  
      
"So like mom instead of mother?"  
      
"Yes," Ninuk says, brushing the makeshift curtain out of the way to admit me into the house.  I pause, glancing down at the massive dog who gives me a sniff before collapsing half in and half out of the house.  " _That_ was my father's dog, Qi.  Now, he just eats and sleeps here, though he seems to like Khione well enough."  
      
The inside of the house is bright—due to all the windows—with a small open living area.  The ground is nothing more than a carpet of grass so thick that I'd wonder if it was fake had it been anywhere else, and a tree juts out of the side of the house, cutting one corner of the room nearly completely from view, another woven curtain finishes obscuring it.  The back of the house is almost completely nonexistent consisting of a simple awning while the rest is open except for more woven curtains that are rolled up and tied.  There is a large fire in the center of the room with pillows and mats that make a U around the fire, clay jars and pots rest against the back wall under the windows.  Just beyond the awning is a relatively tall wall, enclosing the back space; a herb garden rests in one corner and a small pond in another.  Nierox lays against the wall out in the sun with Xerxes curled up in a ball beside him.  
      
The woman I'd assumed to be in her late twenties or so wears a simple frock, leggings, and beaded moccasins, her hair braided and tucked into the back of her dress as she tends to whatever is over the fire.  Clearly, she's older than late twenties if she's Ninuk's mother but she doesn't look it in the slightest.  The old woman sits cross-legged in clothes similar to her daughter, chopping herbs on a woven, clothe cutting board (clearly weaving is a common theme in this house) quickly and efficiently.  Khione stands before them talking speedily, waving her hands dramatically as she does so, though neither women seem to be paying her any mind.  
      
" _Rya_ ," Ninuk greets affectionately, walking over to his mother to kiss her on the cheek.  
      
The woman smiles at him warmly before turning her angelic smile on me, " _K'irech_.  I'm Raval, and I'm assuming _he_ is yours?"  She gestures to Xerxes who opens one eye to look between the pair of us before going back to sleep.  
      
I nod and step further into the room, "Yep.  I'm Ana, and that's Xerxes."  
      
"Pleasure Ana, we've heard a lot about you," Raval says kindly while Ninuk shakes his head and mumbles something at her in their language.  
      
"At least, we are assuming it's you and not that stone-hearted wretch that the boy uses for his...dalliances," his grandmother says while Ninuk blanches and shoots his grandmother a glare.  
      
"How did you even hear about that _öny_?"  Ninuk asks while Khione giggles.  
      
"Never you mind, _liunx_ ," she tells him, pointing the knife at him threateningly; Ninuk just gives her a bored look.  
      
Khione rolls her eyes and answers, "Your warriors _talk, nuka_ , loudly."  
      
"Come closer, _lieks_ , and let me get a look at you," the old woman barks at me with a smile, and I gulp, shooting a desperate look at Ninuk who seems amused but nods at me.  Taking a deep breath, I warily pad across the room to stand in front of her before dropping down to sit cross-legged.  She chuckles, "Nervous, eh?  I am nothing to be afraid of child, never you mind that.  Besides, I doubt the _liunx_ or your _drækn_ would allow any harm to come to you, both physically but the former emotionally."  
      
" _Öny_ ," Ninuk snaps at her coldly.  
      
She holds up a hand to silence her grandson who looks between us angrily before nodding at whatever his mother said.  Jaw clenched, he walks out of the narrow archway in the back yard to fetch something for her.  I turn my attention back to his blunt grandmother, studying her with the same rapt, intent expression she is giving me.  
      
The woman grins, "I like you.  And never mind what the _liunx_ says, he does as well, never fear _that_.  For a moment, I was worried he might even think of becoming mated to that tart that he whores around with—"  
      
" _Rya_ ," Raval tsks at the old woman gently.  
      
Ninuk's grandmother waves her daughter off but doesn't continue, "No matter.  You will make a fine _szekzet_ and a fine _kåty_."  
      
"But what does that—" I begin to ask her what the word means, completely confused when Ninuk reappears handing his grandmother a chunk of meat for cutting.  The old woman's eyes twinkle at me, warning me not to say anything, and I raise an eyebrow at her suspiciously but comply with her request.  
      
Ninuk looks between the two of us with narrowed eyes, "What is my _öny_ no doubt over sharing with you?"  
      
She chuckles while I give him an innocent look.  "The world doesn't revolve around _you_ , you know.  Honestly, we were plotting Kyrm's imminent demise, if you _must_ know, but now you've spoiled the surprise.  Fun sucker that you are,"  I retort while his grandmother laughs outright, his mother and sister snickering in their palms while Ninuk rolls his eyes.  
      
"Will none of you ever let this lie?"  
      
"Of course not, _katsk_ ," Raval smirks at her son, shaking her head.  "Your _öny_ takes great pleasure in mocking you, and on this matter, not even I am averse."  
      
"And you, Ana, what's your excuse?"  Ninuk asks sitting down close beside me.  
      
I look over at him and shrug, "I think she's the biggest bitch I've ever met in my entire life.  Not to mention vain, egotistical, and arrogant.  Did I mention vain?  And bitchy?"  
  
"I get it," Ninuk scowls, shaking his head.  "I suppose I can't convince you to give me the names of those who have borne my shame?"  
      
Khione giggles and shakes her head, "I am no snitch, _nuka_."  
  
"No, you, my _neky_ , are a sadist since you know that with no clear culprit they will all suffer tomorrow during training," Ninuk tells her, and Khione shoots him a wicked smile.  
      
His grandmother puts a hand over mine, and I jump in alarm, turning to look at her, "I am Chisely, and you can cut, no?"  
      
"Yes," I tell her with a smile.  No to cooking, yes to cutting.  
      
Chisely's eyes twinkle at me as she passes me one of her thick clothe cutting boards and a large knife, dropping a chunk of raw, bloody meat in front of me.  I take the knife gingerly and raise my eyebrows, "Then cut."  
      
We all work, chatting amicably, though mostly teasing Ninuk who wanders aimlessly around the house since none of the women will allow him to do anything.  He grooms the dog and Nierox and introduces me to the snake that he and his sister share, which doesn't truly belong to them since it wanders in and out as it pleases.  Khione, who no one clearly trusts with knives, goes back to the garden for a little while, returning to wash up before lunch using a clay bowl and pitcher with water she scoops from the pond.  
      
Lunch is shockingly delicious and utterly fascinating since it's yet another game of 'let's pick on Ninuk' who takes this all in stride, seeming both equal parts amused and embarrassed though not upset with his family.  However, when he gets tired of their antics he swiftly brings the subject around to his deceased father and grandfather, both of whom were honored warriors that died during the same war with the plains tribe—the one that the Tstori absorbed into their own tribe—around the time Ninuk was eight or nine.  It was, according to Ninuk and his mother, Iroal's father who had turned Ninuk into the man he is, though Chisely argues that her brusque, straightforward attitude had far more to do with hardening him than any lessons in fighting ever could.  Ninuk just laugh and nodded at his grandmother, muttering an obligatory, "Of course, _öny_."  
      
Afterwards, Raval sends us off with the dishes, and we walk down the narrow lane beside the house, through the maze of alleys until we reach a broader, rushing stream.  Ninuk shows me how clean the dishes properly before he begins his own work washing off Chisely's woven cutting boards.  
      
"What's up with all the weaving anyway?"  I ask him absently as I scrub one of the bowls clean.  
      
"They're vendors or, more specifically, weavers, though when they go into the trading post every month they sell wares for most of our neighbors as well," Ninuk responds, and we both fall silent for a moment before Ninuk pauses and looks at me, sighing.  "I should have told you about Kyrm."  
      
I stiffen, my face hardening and my scrubbing becoming more aggressive.  I don't look at him, choosing instead to watch Xerxes—who'd followed us all the way from the house—roll around in the shallow waters.  "I don't see why; it's none of my business."  
      
Ninuk glances at me, keeping his face impassive, "You're saying you don't care?"  
      
"I don't like Kyrm but, like I said, not my business.  We're friends.  Why should I care that you have regular hookups with a conceited, social-climbing bitch?  That's your decision, not mine."  
      
"Right," Ninuk murmurs, shaking his head and turning back to his work.  
      
"Should I be upset?"  I ask dispassionately.  
      
"Are you?"  He responds in the same tone.  
      
I stop and turn to glare at him, "It's whatever, Ninuk."  
      
"If you're pissed about something then just say it, Ana," he remarks clearly frustrated.  
      
"I have no idea who you are," I snap at him, and Ninuk freezes, opening his mouth to argue when I cut him off.  "I mean, it's obvious you're no Boy Scout, alright?  But I have no idea who the hell you are.  Inside that city you're one person and out here you're someone totally different.  I'm lost Ninuk, and I don't have it in me to try to deal with both your personalities."  
      
"The _neebtille_ is a complete minefield, Ana.  I can't be _this_ person in _that_ room.  I'll be eaten alive.  It's a power play, and it has been that way since our last _szekzet_ died without a successor.  Everyone is fighting for power, and I have to maintain an image.  I have to keep control otherwise there will be a mad grab for power that might bring my whole tribe's way of life crashing down.  There are thousands of people counting on me to maintain order, Ana, and I do it the only way I know how."  
      
"By turning into freaking Tom Riddle?"  I hiss at him.  
      
"Don't start using opaque references to literary characters, Ana.  This is serious."  
      
"This is how I'm dealing with shit right now," I inform him.  "In that room, I don't trust you."  
      
"You should because in that room I am going to be your only ally who does not have ugly ulterior motives.  _That_ is politics."  
      
"I _hate_ politics because all politics are is pretty lies.  I'm not cut out for this, Ninuk, and I'm not going back in there!"  I snap at him, getting to my feet.  
      
"You have to, Ana."  
      
"Why?  Because your people need a _szekzet_?  Newsflash, Ninuk, I'm not Tstori; I'm not a politician!  I'm a sixteen year old girl who wants to fucking graduate high school and hang out with my brother.  This isn't my world, and this isn't my fight.  I don't want this!"  
      
"I know," Ninuk says to me, dropping the cutting board on the shore.  He walks over to me and grabs both my hands, holding them up between us, looking over them and into my eyes seriously.  "I know all that, Ana, and if I'd known you had Xerxes before then I would have done everything in my power to prevent this from happening.  But the _neebtille_ knows, and the warriors know, and the _lieru_ knows about you.  There is no running from this."  
      
I blink back tears, and Ninuk kisses my forehead and hugs me tightly while I fight my sobs.  He shushes me kindly, and we stand there until my tears finally subside.  Ninuk releases me only to cup my cheek in his hand, smiling at me gently, "You were chosen for this for a reason, Ana, and once everything gets sorted out and righted then you won't _have_ to be a politician and play the same catty political games everyone else plays.  But, right now, you have to be your usual strong, outspoken, sarcastic self until that times comes.  And no matter what I say or do or behave like amongst them, understand that I will always look out for you."  
      
I nod and force a smile as I brush the tears off my cheeks, "That's because Pollux would kill you."  
      
Ninuk laughs and kisses my forehead again, "Of course."  
      
"Ugh," I say, disgusted, "I hate crying."  
      
He smirks at me but doesn't say anything as we move over to re-wash the objects we'd dropped into the dirt.  When we finish, Ninuk carries everything while I absently stroke Xerxes's wet scales.  Ninuk looks over at us and shakes his head while I stop, putting a hand on my hip and raising an eyebrow at him, daring him to speak his mind.  
      
"I hate when you don't tell me important stuff is all," Ninuk remarks.  
      
I scowl and glance down at Xerxes, "How was I supposed to know that the hatching of some creature I thought was a myth was somehow notable to you?"  Ninuk rolls his eyes at me and mutters something under his breath that I don't quite catch before shaking his head again.  I frown at him, but he doesn't repeat it so I sigh and start walking, glancing over my shoulder at him with a cheeky smile, "Besides, I hate Kyrm so we're even."  
      
He rolls his eyes and follows me, a slight smile on his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I've been neglecting updating this story and figured since I'm sitting here watching Draft Day, I might as well try to get up the last eight chapters.


	15. Chapter Fifteen

Chisely has become overly fond of saying "everyday you learn something new", which, translated to colloquial language, is the old woman's way of saying "I can't believe _you_ actually managed accomplish _that_ " without making me feel like a complete moron.  Though, it would work better if her shock wasn't so evident on her face...and if Khione didn't gape at me like I'd announced that I'm getting a sex change after graduation.  
      
The metamorphosis from the chilly February winter into the humid early spring of March brings more changes than I'm really comfortable accepting, not the least of which include an overabundance of creeping crawly things, mutant, monster-sized mosquitos, and balmy days spent laying on shore.  _Those_ changes I've been able to accept with grace and poise; it's the social, mental, and political changes that make my head spin and force me to pine for days playing schoolyard bitch back in Niagara, being the weird girl with a pessimistic outlook and a big mouth that had no filter, read too much, and edited photos on her tablet during Trigonometry.  
      
At that time, I had thought that nothing could be worse than living like that: lonely, isolated even from my friends, and too wrapped up in my own head to truly find any solace in anyone.  I'd been misunderstood and persecuted for it.  I'd been mean and unhappy and relegated to the shadows by everyone my own age who couldn't quite handle the truth that I'd cultivated far too early in life.  Pathetic as it is, I'd resigned myself to a life of artistic inquiry, chasing down the last wild places on Earth and photographing them to showcase what things had once been like before we'd gotten too big for our britches and managed to completely break the Earth's carrying capacity, building up when spreading out was no longer an option.  There would be no relationships since I doubted anyone could handle me, no home since I refused to stay in one place, and no bonds that could tie me to a single region.  A true woman of the world never mind that the world had become a place of poverty, disease, and overpopulation with little beauty, an unstable climate, and shallow peoples.  
      
Life, though, is not without its irony.  
      
On an alien planet in an alien system, I somehow have managed to find myself with friends, a family unit that is somewhat stable, and culture that doesn't foster ignorance, corruption, and laziness.  And just when everything shifts into some vague sense of rightness and understanding, the universe gets the last laugh and pushes the whole thing out of alignment.  Or, in my case, destabilize the society of Eden's populace.  
      
It didn't take long for the border war in Jericho to make local and national news, somehow managing to find its way from outside our two colonies all the way back to Earth who displays copious blurry, hazy videos of the attacks on Jericho, conveniently managing to showcase the terrified, innocent youth of the city in _every_ shot, which I think is just masterful editing.  Both the battle and the news have put the army on edge, and even in Eden, the war has driven tensions up both socially and politically.  It's those attitudes that leave me frowning at the 'innocent', 'horror-stricken' children on the news and wonder if they're less 'innocent' and more 'new-aged Hitler Youth', only with anti-native sentiments instead of anti-Semitic ones.  
      
It wouldn't be surprising.  
      
In just thirty days, Eden has gone from being distrusting and warily hostile of our Tstori neighbors to downright hateful, demanding that they be removed before they can follow in the footsteps of their 'fellows' and attack Eden in the hopes of driving us out.  Mayor Newlin stubbornly refuses to allow the army to make any such moves against the Tstori unless they attack us first, a wise and strategic move on his part that will no doubt save hundreds of innocent lives but also manages to infuriate a good eighty percent of the town's inhabitants including most of the military who, after watching their comrades get brutally slaughtered by the Nirutū, are in no hurry to follow in their footsteps when it can be prevented.  
      
Rumors circulating through the town of an alliance between the two tribes has only driven hostilities even higher against natives and has fueled my father's insistent pressure on the mayor to allow the military to attack, to little or no avail since the allegation can't be proven.  And while both Pollux and I know that the rumors are total bullshit (since the Tstori, quite frankly, like the "warmonger, inbred Nirutū coven"—in the words of Chisely after Ninuk declined commenting on them—about as much as us colonists do), we have neither the ability nor the desire to say anything.  Because, in the wake of any true genocide, comes the slurs, the persecution, and, of course, the choosing of sides.  
      
It's difficult to realize who actually wants the Tstori to be exterminated and who's just going along with it to make life easier.  We've reached a point where disagreement with the very idea causes blatant antipathy and eventual exclusion from society.  The topic has been completely forbidden to be discussed at school after pothead, Donovan O'Leary, got his ass kicked by a mob of various kids in tenth, eleventh, _and_ twelfth grade for saying—in a rare moment of sobriety—he thinks that "wanting to kill off a group of people who've never done anything is the stupidest idea the city has come up with yet."  The incident lead to him dropping out of school when neither the bullying nor his gradual ostracism stopped.  Not to mention Magdahlia Reyes, Mariposa the restauranteur's daughter, and Carter Coventry, Donovan's dealer and best friend, have both been shunned for daring to defend _Donovan_ , not even what he stood for.  
      
Phrases like 'race traitor' and 'Tsti-turncoat' have been tossed around regularly, and even whispered rumors have proven to be deadly for the unfortunate victims.  Three people at least have been hauled away by soldiers for questioning on 'illicit activity' and 'aiding known criminals' by word of neighbors who circulated deadly rumors, and all three, regardless of being proven innocent of all charges, live under a constant cloud of suspicion, their homes regular recipients of vandalism and their business enterprises falling under the shroud of such an accusation.  
      
"It's like Soviet Russia all over again," Pollux has started saying.  "All we need is the fucking KGB!"  
      
The similarities between our little colony and both Stalinist Russia and Nazi Germany are beginning to become startling, except this time there is no world superpowers to interfere in the genocide.  "If it begins," I tell Pollux, "it won't end until there's no one left to kill or no more space to get rid of the bodies."  It certainly doesn't help my already frayed nerves that Pollux agrees heartily with me; I'm practically a double-agent, where would that leave me?  
      
"It leaves you being either Helen of Troy or Benedict Arnold: free and clear despite the obvious role you played or dead, your name forever being dragged through the mud as a sign of your betrayal," Pollux happily informs while I just scowl.  We both know I'm not manipulative enough to be Helen of Troy; I'd get lost in my own lie without difficulty.  
      
Despite my obvious reservation about running around with the Tstori while my whole colony is against them, it has quickly become a place of shocking solitude in the midst of personal hell.  Chisely reminds me of my own grandmother with the simple exception being both her mouth and the fact that instead of shopping and eating out (whenever she's not in the mood to fry up Greek delicacies) the woman weaves _everything_ (the upside being that she wove a tea cozy for me to give my mother for her birthday in April) and orders Raval to cook for her.  Khione, the total opposite of my generally uptight, fashionista sister, spends most of her time running around with her friends or obsessively tending her garden, though I can't imagine that she can constantly find something to do in it.  And Raval cooks, reads, and makes clothes for her entire family using both animal skins Ninuk brings her (which is apparently where the chupacabra that Ninuk had killed on front of me had gone) and the clothe that her mother weaves.  
      
Not that it's all fun and games with the family that's becoming almost more dear to me than my own.  
      
Ninuk pushes me to learn as much as I can as fast as I can, his excuse being that I won't get eaten alive whenever the mercurial _neebtille_ decides they want to see me. Though, Iroal has hinted that Ninuk all but commandeered responsibility for me and my training, holding them at bay for the time being and giving me the opportunity to adjust to the idea before throwing me to the wolves, which doesn't seem like an impossibility knowing him.  
      
Regardless of the cloud of impending doom hanging over my head, the overwhelming array of lessons are the only thing keeping me from a full melt down under the rising craziness in Eden.  My combat training has expanded exponentially from just the two of us and occasionally Iroal in the canyon to fighting with spears (not my best skill), archery (Iroal's so disappointed in me), tracking (not my finest hour), and hunting (which I actually have a knack for).    
      
Ninuk and Agrit, who is apparently one of Ninuk's only legitimate friend on the _neebtille_ , guide me through the inner workings of the Tstori political system, which is apparently designed to avoid succession and therefore greed through inheritance as well as make sure that the ruling class are as down to earth as possible.  To put it simply, each _torz_ and _lieru_ choose their successor (with approval from the _szekzet_ or _psizets_ ) by a certain age and train them in their duties before resigning and handing over the reigns to the next generation.  The _neebtille_ is a cumulative branch with one person being chosen each year from the school to serve on the council so at any given time the number fluctuates due to sudden death and so forth.    
      
Ninuk and his whole family guide me as patiently as they can through the belief system of the tribe, which seems simple in its ideology: the essence of life in each creature that makes them sentient is a part of a mass energy flow amongst all living things (known as the Goddess, though its not a singular person), and these internal essences are immortal, departing when we die to live and give life to all in nature, meaning that, through proper channels, they can communicate with the still existing essences of their deceased ancestors.  The rituals and practices actually surrounding the relatively straight-forward ideology are anything but uncomplicated, and not even the whole family can really explain logically the celebrations, rites, and services that go along with the belief system, let alone what the priests and priestesses actually _do_.  
      
My Achilles' heel, though, is, and always has been, language.  
      
I have a long history with foreign language classes.  My earliest memory is my grandparents chattering at me in Greek from practically the moment Pollux and I popped from the womb, and by the time we'd turn five, Pollux couldn't necessarily hold conversations with them, but he could at least understand what the hell they were talking about.  I'd just blinked blankly and smiled my darling baby girl smile before saying, "Whaaaa?"  At that age, it had been entertaining but when five years of Spanish and three years of French passed and I could only say _bonjour, hola, adios, merci, gracias,_ and assorted colors, numbers, and animals, the cute factor had passed and become troublesome for my grade point average until the closest I came to 'foreign language' was listening to the Chinese ladies talk to each other while the cooks made my dumplings.  
      
As my grades, focus, senses, and various mental faculties sharpened and heightened with each passing day, I had been under the delusional that learning _tstilek_ , the Tstori language, would be somehow easier than it had been previously.  
   
It isn't.  
      
Apparently, my aversion to learning foreign language has nothing to do with my _brain_ 's ability to comprehend and maintain as it is my own instinctual aversion to learning it, according to Ninuk.  His comments have been greatly discouraging to the whole process since my subconscious aversion to learning new languages cannot be helped, and Ninuk's only words of advice was a shrug and a smirk...asshole.  
      
I have to give everyone credit; my inability to maintain the language isn't for lack of trying on their part.  They are constantly trying to intertwine my language lessons into almost everything else, though it has been indefinitely suspended during hunting after I'd blatantly shot an arrow at Iroal who's version of a 'dual lesson' meant not letting me shoot the stag we'd followed for nearly _five hours_ until I could tell him 'I know how to dance very well' in _tstilek_.  It's a good thing I'm not a very good archer or his ass would have been grass, much to Liesun's undying amusement—she's not a fan of Iroal's exuberance.  
      
Ninuk, though, came up with a two part system that actually works: knife fighting and flying lessons.  The knife fighting is my newfound joy in life as well as something I'm dangerously good at; I throw far and with accuracy and can wield the blades fairly quickly and effortlessly.  However, Ninuk—who is _disgustingly_ good at _everything_ —came to the realization that I love to talk, and, more importantly, I _need_ to prattle on and on and on while I'm fighting to distract myself since, according to Ninuk, my intense focus on whatever I'm doing might lead to over thinking that will get me killed.   Talking relaxes me and distracts me just enough to keep me from over thinking; it also provides Ninuk with a training tool: talk only in _tstilek_ or don't talk at all.  For every sentence I say in English, that's one hour off of flight practice.  For every fight I lose because I _can't_ talk, that's a whole day.  
      
Traveling, especially in the air, has always been a favorite pastime of mine, either because of the necessity—since I'd been raised as a military brat—or out of sheer joy remains unclear, but regardless, it brings me a ridiculous amount of pleasure.  In the face of the rising tensions in Eden and the stress sneaking between the two worlds brings me, Xerxes reaching maturity came as both a blessing and a curse.  
      
A curse because as much as I love him, I couldn't allow him to continue climbing up the side of the house and hiding in my room when he's the size of a small car, not necessarily due to bulk, but mostly his massive wings that are each several yards long and his powerful tail, the bulb on the end having a tendency to puff out in moments of extreme emotion and become spikes.  After breaking my lamp and shredding several of my pillows, it was decided—by Ninuk and Pollux—that he'd have to settle for sleeping outside.  
      
The blessing comes in the way that his newfound size allows the two of us to begin flight training in the canyon, which is a hell of a lot harder than riding a horse ever was.  Xerxes's scales mean that there can't be any kind of communication using my legs since he can't feel it anyhow; the saddle is little more than a strip of leather and weaving wrapped around his girth and looped over his chest with flimsy stirrups that will not save me if I get hit in midair and a dragon version of a bit-less bridle that seems more like it's meant only to give the illusion of control as opposed to actually _giving_ it.  
      
And Ninuk, ever the fabulous teacher, had begun our flying lessons by teaching me how to properly tack up a dragon before patting Xerxes' head and giving me a serious look.  "Xerxes hatched for you and is a part of you, but he is still a wild animal.  You'll have to work together, learn from each other, and work _with_ each other to master flight, but I have never flown a dragon.  So, that's all the advice I can offer you.  The rest you'll have to figure out on your own," he'd offered me an impish smile while I'd just glared at him malevolently, not even slightly amused.  His smile had just grown, "Well, are you ready to hop on?"  
      
Flying with Xerxes is nerve-wracking, exhilarating, and absolutely terrifying, and yet, in the midst of the rising anti-native wave flowing through Eden, a whole nation's political stability weighing down on my shoulders, ordinary schoolwork drowning me, my own emotional inner turmoil depressing me, and the nightmares that I can't seem to own up to still haunting my waking and sleeping dreams, I find power and peace in flight even though Xerxes and I are neither very good at the moment nor very in sync with each other.  Still, that can be fixed and changed with time and practice while none of my various other issues can really say the same.  
      
My days have strangely adopted a routine of irregularity, combat practices and cultural lessons on the weekends with various other evening practices that I'm told about only a day or so in advance during the weekdays.  Commonly, I stop by to say hello to Raval and Chisely at least a couple times a week, occasionally bringing Pollux along whenever Jace, who has suddenly been gifted with newfound popularity, goes out.  And I suspect that Ninuk enjoys Pollux's frequent visits to his family home since it gives him a break from being the one his family picks on, turning instead to my charming brother who good-naturedly cracks jokes on his own behalf with them.    
      
It's both gratifying and terrifying to involve Pollux; on the one hand, he's my best friend and literally my other half.  I love that he's apart of who I'm becoming, growing with me instead of growing apart.  However, the last thing I want to do is put him in more danger than he is already simply through knowing me and knowing that I've been involved in illegal, traitorous activity with our 'savage', unwanted neighbors, but it's a choice that I let Pollux make for himself and _that_ I'll honor.  He is perfectly capable of taking care of himself.  
      
The worst part is that they've managed to convince him to join in on my tiresome training, which means even when I'm not with Ninuk and Co., I've got my annoying twin giving me 'surprise attacks' and spouting _tstilek_ at me, giving me a Cheshire Cat grin when I scowl at him, jealous on how quickly he's picked up the language.  
      
With the Pollux's love life suddenly back on the rocks now that Theodore suddenly finds himself _constantly_ busy working on his family farm—though Pollux and I have a hard time truly believing that—he's picked up on my bad habits.  His newest weekend extracurricular, when he can shake Jace (who both of us stubbornly refuse to involve), consists of him either crashing my trainings or running around with Iroal or Agrit who find him ridiculously amusing for some reason or another, though I'm unsure what those three unlikely amigos actually _do_ together; they all just kind of snicker and shake their heads at me while Ninuk rolls his eyes and tells me to let it drop.  
      
When we can find the time, the two of us just lay across the floor of either my room or his to do our homework and get a vocabulary lesson on _tstilek_.  Essays, assigned readings, math worksheets, all of that kind of thing somehow gets neglected in the shuffle, and, naturally, we procrastinate and do it all whenever we find the chance... _if_ we find the chance.  Though, thankfully, most of our homework is rote worksheets that one of us (me) actually does while the other (Pollux) just copies.  Our music plays on shuffle in the background, surprisingly not distracting me in the slightest.  
      
"No."  
      
" _Nept_."  
      
"Yes."  
      
" _Avar_."  
      
"Hello or greetings."  
      
" _Orvq nyr_ ," I tell him to shut up, glancing up from my history textbook with a wide, fake smile.  
      
Pollux shakes his head at me and absently pets a purring Demetri, "Don't be mean.  And it's–"  
      
" _K'irech_ , yeah, I know.  Let's be honest here, yes, no, maybe so are words that I always remember.  If you're really going to attempt to tutor me could you actually try to give me words that I don't know?"  Pollux glances up at me with a dry look, and I sigh, tugging on a strand of hair hanging in my face from my messy bun, "Can you actually help with this US History homework?  Or are you just gonna sit over there and look pretty?"  
      
"I'm helping you do something _important_ , Ana.  We both know that after high school you're not going to be going to some college to study ancient history or become a professional photographer.  You are going to help the _lieru_ fix the tribe's political system and be the best _szekzet_ they've ever had, get hitched to Ninuk and have a brood adorable little munchkins that drive their Uncle Pollux insane and/or scare the shit out of him," Pollux shrugs while I just shake my head at him doubtfully.  "It's okay, Ana.  That's your predetermined path in life."  
      
"Oh Lord, this fate shit again," I roll my eyes.  "And should I be concerned that you're trying to pimp me out to Ninuk?  Should he?"  
      
Pollux snorts and pops an M&M into his mouth, glaring at the bag when it falls from where it rests against my arm, the small candies spilling out across the floor.  I smirk while he just frowns and continues talking, "Ninuk would sell me the whole Tstori nation if I pimped you out to him."  
      
I toss an M&M at his head, not in the mood for my brother's teasing, "You ass."  
      
"You're so fucking clueless, Ana.  It's sad, really," Pollux snickers just as his phone goes off.  He glances down at it and grins, picking up a handful of the fallen M&Ms and throwing them down his throat as he hops to his feet.  
      
I kick his ankle, but he jumps, narrowly avoiding my foot, "That's gross.  Do you know how long it's been since you swept these floors?"  
      
"About the same length of time since you swept yours," Pollux offers me a cheeky smile while I grimace in disgust.  I'm not a huge fan of sweeping and do it either when I get annoyed by all the shit on the floor or on Christmas Eve.  
      
"Where are you going?"  I call out, abandoning my text book and scrambling to my feet to follow him down the stairs.  
      
Pausing, I peek into Jace's room and roll my eyes when I see her lying across her hot pink, rhinestone-accented bed texting a mile a minute, the LCD screen throwing bright shades of color across her face.  Wordlessly, I return to follow Pollux who glances over his shoulder at me as we walk into our parents room, padding across the carpet to Mom's work station in the corner, which, unlike our OCD mother, is messy.  Papers, knick-knacks, and folders are sprawled in haphazard heaps across it.  
      
I freeze, eyes wide, "What are you doing?"  
      
"Getting something for Mom," Pollux answers while I look at him doubtfully.  He gives me an annoyed look, " _Seriously_ , Ana Banana, she texted and wants me to scan over some paperwork on common genetic markers... I don't fucking know.  All she told me is that it's on a light blue sheet of paper in a green folder with nothing written on it except," he pauses, eyes scanning the text message again, "a date in the top right hand corner."  
       
Sighing in exasperation, I walk to his side and knock his shoulder with mine, "Then we'd better start sorting through this mess, huh?"  
      
Pollux grins and shakes his head as he looks at the desk, a grim, distasteful look flickering across his face before we starting digging through the array of papers coating the surface.  Mom specializes in DNA sequencing and research, and, before Eden, she'd dedicated her life to understanding cancer, which has become the new plague, and still kills with quick, silent efficiency even nearly two hundred years after it was discovered.  Why she was asked to come to Eden remains a mystery, though Pollux theorizes its because of her early work on the evolution of the human species and her studies on how DNA changed over time, introducing new genes necessary to further the survival of the species.  I've never taken a vested interest.  
      
"Don't you think it's weird," Pollux says conversationally as I kneel down to begin going through the draws.  I give him a questioning look.  "Well, if you really look at the Aurora natives, don't you think it's odd how similar they are to us?"  
      
"Were you expecting blue striped people who have glowing freckles?  Or some _really_ pale, short thing with a bulbous head who's always 'phoning home' and making bicycles fly?  I mean, really Pollux," I roll my eyes, pausing when I find a lime green folder...with no date on it.  I stick it back in the drawer, closing it and moving onto the next one.  
      
"That's not what I mean, Anastasia," Pollux says, clearly frustrated he's not saying this right.  "I meant culturally they have a ridiculous amount of similarities to Earth.  I mean, what does Kepīloria and Graer remind you of, be honest."  
      
I hesitate, thinking about it, "I don't know, some tricked out, uber-green version of like El Dorado, ancient Persia, ancient India, and a dash of like the Mayans and the Aztecs thrown in?"  
      
"And the Nirutū?"  
      
"Have you ever even seen them?"  I respond while Pollux points to the television, and I sigh, "Very, very, very old school Native Americans, but not one group specifically more like a melting pot of all of them."  
      
"And you don't think that's a little odd?"  
      
"I think you should just tell me your theory," I gift him with a winning smile, my tone patient.  
      
He shoots me a dark look, "I...it's just...they have chupacabras, Ana.  And they call them chupacabras.  They have dragons called _draekn_.  The have pegasus, known as pterippi in Greek, known as _terypty_.  And unicorns.  Agrit told me that the southern tribes have stories of yeti monsters and ride ice beasts.  There's a group in the east who have wyverns.  The northern tribes have stories of indestructible, golden-haired, maned beasts with impenetrable skin like the Nemean Lion.  That's a hell of a lot of coincidences Ana."  
      
"Don't even, Pollux.  Again, stop watching so many damn sci-fi flicks.  Yes, you were right about the dragon.  But this isn't Prometheus.  They didn't engineer and ship us off to some planet in a whole other galaxy.  They don't have electricity or running water!  They sure as hell don't have fucking space ships!"  
      
"I'm not talking about science fiction or them engineering a whole sub-species!  I'm talking about evolution.  And, you have to have wondered why they don't have any technology, Ana.  They're too smart to have never thought of it, never tried it.  Their stupidest people can probably rival Albert Einstein in intelligence!  Maybe they aren't _incapable_ of making technology, maybe it's a conscious choice to avoid it, and if so, why?"  
      
"Who cares," I say, standing up and crossing my hands over my chest.  "We aren't scientists, Pollux.  And why would it even matter?"  
      
"Don't you want to know where we came from?  And I'm not talking Adam and Eve, but real shit.  Evolution, Ana," Pollux reasons.  
      
But I shake my head and wave my arm, "No, Lux, why would I?"  The question and its gesture is punctuated by my hand slamming into a pile of manila foldiers on the upper tier of Mom's desk.  The whole pile clatters to the ground, luckily the papers stick out of the folders, skewed, but not jumbled up in some big pile.  We groan in unison, sinking to the floor and to put it back together.  Pollux cries out in joy, yanking _the_ green folder from between the manila file folders, opening it up and pulling out the light blue sheet that is the _only_ sheet actually inside; he scans the tiny barcode on the corner and sends the sheet's image to Mom.  
      
My eyes catch on the contents of a manila folder that has fallen open.  
  
Name: Subject 76012  
Age: 22 years  
Gender: m  
Race: Aurora-native  
      
The heading catches my attention, and I grab the folder frowning as my eyes skim over the page.  
      
"What are you—?"  Pollux begins.  
      
"This is an analysis of a DNA sample take from a twenty-two year old native, Lux," I interrupt, glancing up at him.  "There's no way a native would have given this willingly, so how did they get it?"  
      
Pollux hesitates, "Calm down, Ana, let me see."  I pass him the folder, and he skims through it, flipping the pages.  "I...Ana, this is a whole diagnostic, not just a DNA sequence.  This is preliminary too, like the control group before beginning experimentation.  This has brain activity, heart rate at rest and at motion, height, weight, blood pressure, his whole DNA sequence...I don't know what this is exactly, but...we shouldn't tell anyone about it until we do know."  
      
I yank the folder from him and drop it on the stack, "I don't like this."  
      
Silently, Pollux nods and lifts the whole stack from the floor, putting it back in place, lips pressed together tightly, "Should we ask—?"  
      
"No," I say quickly while Pollux glances at me nervously but with a question clear in his gaze.  "I trust Mom, but she'd tell Dad.  And if this isn't...you know," Pollux nods, clearly understanding where I'm afraid to go with this, "then the last thing we need is the military watching our every move."  
      
"I—" Pollux begins when Jace screams for us.  
      
Obviously still on edge, we race out of our parents room and up the stairs, throwing open Jace's door to barge into her room.  She's sitting cross-legged on her bed with a hand to her mouth, silent tears streaming down her face and eyes riveted on her phone's screen.  A haunted look splits across her face as she turns to us, shaking, and we share a look before picking up the phone as Jace collapses onto her pillow.  
      
Reporter Holly Perimeni's face is in the corner of the screen, images of angry colonists screaming, yelling, and throwing what looks like rocks at nearly ten figures as they walk by flip across the center.  The headline is highlighted at the top: **Local farmer and family arrested under charges of treason, aiding and abetting, and terrorism against both the colonies of Eden and Jericho**.  The camera angle changes to show an aerial view of a familiar farm, over fifty filthy, haggard people being shoved into armored vans.  I stifle a gasp as the faces of those behind the 'act of terrorism' are shown, grasping Pollux's hand as both the creepy farmer who'd threatened me and Theodore Wallace are lead away in a serious set of handcuffs.  With shaking hands, Pollux turns up the volume.  
      
"Just this morning, the Jennings family, a family of local farmers, and their entire staff were arrested after being caught by officials aiding savage rebels by helping them escape into the local Tstori reservation.  All twelve suspected to be involved, including two minors, have admitted guilt and shown no signs of remorse.  Over fifty native rebels have been discovered in the home, barn, and cellar as well as hiding on the property, and they have been taken into custody along with five Tstori who were assisting in the operation.  At this time, those colonists being charged with treason, aiding and abetting criminal actions, and terrorism against the colonies are in custody of the army in a secure, secret location for their own protection and are awaiting the next available shuttle to leave the colony and return to Earth for sentencing and imprisonment.  General Galen Mikos had this to say about the incident:"  
      
The camera cuts from the reporter and pictures of the angry, screaming mob to our father's stoic face, soldiers and the refugees being shown behind him, "It is of the utmost importance of this army to maintain order, especially in Eden.  We are a haven right now and a sanctuary should those civilians in Jericho who need an escape from the situation existing there right now.  Safety is our most important goal, I cannot stress that enough.  It is extremely upsetting that our neighbors, people we cared for and trusted, endangered the lives of their friends and countrymen to perpetrate crime for whatever reasons they claim to have.  As it is, we cannot allow dangerous rebels to escape justice, and we certainly cannot allow our own citizens to assist.  We are handling this situation as delicately as possible to keep Eden safe and at peace, but, as it is, this particular crime will not be taken lightly.  These people put their children and every inhabitant of this city at risk by aiding the escape of rebels.  This will not be tolerated."  
      
"And what of the Tstori involvement?  Thus far, it was believed that they would remain neutral and not involve themselves in this conflict.  However, the presence of Tstori natives it appears that that notion is incorrect, what will be the next step?"  
      
"At this point, we do not want to provoke an attack of any kind.  We have arrested the Tstori criminals involved and hopefully that will be warning enough that their version of 'neutrality' is not the same as ours and is not acceptable."  
      
"And are you concerned at all about retaliation for arresting these natives?"  
      
"We do not foresee it as probable cause for them to attack, though we are prepared.  They are unpredictable, and it's uncertain exactly how they will proceed.  We are more than ready for any outcome, but justice has been served.  I don't see why it would be a problem, but we will just have to wait and see what happens."  
      
"Thank you very much, General, for your time," Eric Michaelson, the ground reporter, says before turning back to the camera.  
      
I yank the device from Pollux's hand, turning off the volume and rewinding the feed to look at the 'rebels'.  However, I don't see battle hardened soldiers or painted radicals.  I see tired, scared men, women, and children ranging from infancy to the elderly who look more like walking corpses than human beings, carrying sacks, woven reed baskets, and whatever else they can hold.  They look gaunt, beaten down, and fatigued, tear tracks evident on their dirty faces.  Those are not rebels fighting for a cause but refugees running from a broken home to what seems like the only stable place left.  
      
Pollux looks shocked and winded, sitting on the edge of Jace's bed with his hands on his knees, staring at the wall across from him without really seeing it.  Jace is curled in a ball, shaking and gripping her pillow so tightly that her knuckles turn white, barely able to catch a breath.  And I drop the phone on the bed, walking to the window in a daze; I bend down, my fingers grasping the sill tightly as I stare out, taking in my view of an Eden in upheaval, unsure of exactly where to go from here.


	16. Chapter Sixteen

Both Pollux and I suffer under the delusion that Graer is somehow safer than Eden, though that may be due mostly to its great emotional appeal as opposed to any legitimate physical safety.  In the wake of the arrests of Theodore and his family, we'd fled to the warm, loving environment at the first opportunity.  It feels nice to be around people who are not demanding the death penalty be handed out to people who were our neighbors and friends.  Among the Tstori, the Jennings family and their farm staff are little more than heroes, which puts a stricken Pollux at ease.  
      
Lounging around at Ninuk's family home is a rare luxury that is, most likely, being afforded to us out of pity and gratitude, but we embrace it regardless.  The bright sunlight just manages to breakthrough the trees; Khione and I take advantage and rest in the backyard, basking in the sunlight while leaning our backs on Xerxes's sleeping form.  Pollux sits next to Raval with our family's entire collection of spices spread on the ground beside him, tutoring her on the wonders of garlic, paprika, and cardamom, grateful to have someone who appreciates his vast knowledge of seasoning.  
      
Raval smiles at him, looking between us, "So you are the cook in the house, I suppose?"  
      
Pollux smirks at me, and I push my Ray Bans further up the bridge of my nose, rolling my eyes at him.  Some women are just not made for the kitchen; women like me are better off organizing feminism protests and saving the rainforest...you know, something productive.  
      
"Oh don't mind Ana, she's not _completely_ hopeless.  She can cook meat, boil water, and follow directions just fine.  Just don't ask her to _really_ cook.  Ana's idea of 'seasoning' is salt, pepper, or both."  
      
Raval chuckles and shakes her while I flip my brother the bird, "There is nothing that can't be fixed with a little salt and pepper...or a lot."  
      
"A little?  Please, Ana, you poured half of the container of salt into Jace's eggs.  She _puked_ , Ana, _three times_!"  
   
I scowl, "Well, that's because Jacie is a princess.  She should have a stronger stomach."  Pollux looks unconvinced, but I shudder at the memory.  Those eggs had been _disgusting_ , but _I_ had almost puked out my intestines... _almost_ being the key word here.  
      
"And where is your sister?  Another social event with her friends?"  Raval inquires politely.  
      
Khione scowls, "Where's _my_ brother?"  
      
" _Fįrelł_ , child, your brother has responsibilities beyond entertaining you," Chisely chastises her while Raval just shakes her head, though whether it's at her mother or daughter is unclear.  
      
Scowling but embarrassed, Khione ducks her head while I take pity on her, "He left to settle a dispute between a Tstori vendor and one of the Nirutū refugees a few blocks over.  He'll be back soon."  
      
Khione gives me a grateful smile before glaring at her grandmother, "You might have just told me that."  
      
Chisely shrugs, "I didn't know.  And now I do."  She smirks before looking back at my brother who looks between the woman and her granddaughter with raised eyebrows.  
      
He meets my eyes and shakes his head in exasperation before answering Raval's original question.  "No, no social gatherings for our social butterfly sister today.  She's got parent-teachers conferences, which our parents are actually attending," Pollux wrinkles his nose, shaking his head; we're both still in shock that both our Mom _and_ our Dad took time off to go to Jace's school to talk to her teachers.  It would have been a nicer gesture had their interest not been accompanied by a note, which had come home not two days before, saying that Jace had been written up for excessive talking and disrespect.  _That's_ why they'd _both_ graced the school with their collective presence; that's also why Jace had acted out in the first place.  
      
"And you two, any social events coming up?"  Raval asks more to Pollux than to me.  We've long since established that _he's_ the social butterfly of this duo while I only attend parties when he needs either an alibi or a reputable 'chaperone'.  
      
Pollux heaves a long sigh, "Alas, no.  My ex-boyfriend has been arrested for treason and is awaiting deportation.  No visitors.  No contact of any kind."  
      
I scoff, "Please, bitch, you'll be out fucking with that hoe in no time."  I grimace in reference to Marley who seems to be his go-to, slut bag of choice when he's in between serious boyfriends or girlfriends.  I could live my entire life without Marley even being on the same planet as me, let alone sleeping with my brother.  
      
Not bothering to defend Marley's nonexistent honor, Pollux blinks at me like he's never seen before, "Did you just coin the phrase 'fucking with that hoe'?  What the hell?  When did you gain a Y chromosome and grow balls?  We are 'siblings', not 'bros' or 'homies', and you are a girl not some pimped out ghetto manwhore."  
      
"Love you too."  
      
"Who's this girl?"  Raval inquires, looking between the two of us curiously.  
      
"Marley.  The 'Kyrm' of my generation.  Egotistical, narcissistic, self-obsessed bitch queen extraordinaire that Lux sleeps with between serious relationships."  
      
Pollux shrugs, "It's a physical thing."  I give him a disgusted look.  
      
Raval fights a smile and shakes her head at us while Chisely scoffs, "I doubt anyone can be as bad as Kyrm.  I saw that _gîrjà_ —"  
      
" _Rya_!"  Raval snaps, appalled at Chisely's language.  The old woman waves her off while Khione giggles.  
      
"—in the market at Kepīloria not two days ago.  Why your son even spared a  moment of his time seeking sexual gratification from some artificial, vain _lutrif_ with a superiority complex and blatant designs to bind herself to him for his future position, I'll never know.  I thought you raised him better than that, _neky_."  
      
"He's a man.  Sometimes it's just all about—" Pollux begins, cutting off when Khione lobs pebbles at him.  He stops, holding his hands up in surrender and laughing.  
      
Raval is biting her lip to stop her giggles while Khione just grins and chuckles, getting to her feet to collect the pebbles she threw.  I laugh hysterically, shaking my head and continuing until I can barely breath.  Someone kicks my foot lightly, and I glance up to see that Ninuk's returned, which sends a whole new round of laughter through the entire house.  
      
"Oh no," Ninuk shakes his head, "what did my _öny_ say now?"  
      
My laughter subsides into giggles, and I shake my head, catching my breath, "Nothing really.  It was Pollux who said that your bad judgment on 'seeking sexual gratification from some artificial, vain _lutrif_ with a superiority complex and blatant designs to bind herself to you for your future position'—in the words of your grandmother—is because you are a man.  And therefore, I suppose, weak-willed and judgment impaired in the face of someone evil yet attractive."  
      
Ninuk scowls, "She's still going on about that?"  He turns to his grandmother, "You're still going on about Kyrm?  We're not even having sex anymore."  Raval looks unconvinced, and Khione rolls her eyes, tossing the pebbles outside before disappearing into the house, bored with the conversation.  
      
The Tstori are ridiculously, uncomfortably open about things like sex, which are tabooed subjects in my society.  Raval explains it by saying that by being open about it, not turning it into some kind of forbidden fruit, children can sate their curiosity openly instead of secretively, asking question and getting answers without feeling embarrassed or shamed for wondering.  She also says that by making it an accepted part of society, they've removed the novelty from the act so most teenagers don't turn it into some kind of rite or status symbol like they do on Earth and in Eden.  Technically, with the Tstori, terms like 'slut' or 'whore' are all but obsolete, though Chisely has kindly informed me words with no literal modern translation like ' _gîrjà_ ' and ' _lutrif_ ' have taken their place and are generally used to talk about women and men who cheat on their significant others or are just generally considered scum.  Lovely.  Chisely, it seems, is the only one who commonly uses words like that.  
      
"I should hope not," Raval gives her son a serious look, and he keeps his face impassive but grits his teeth, inclining his head in her direction.  
      
"Of course not!"  Chisely adds, believing him unlike the rest of his family.  "Why would he need to when he's got that one there.  Now, that one I like."  
      
Ninuk's face goes slack, gaping at his grandmother, and it takes both Pollux and me a moment to understand.  Pollux chokes on the water he's drinking, while I sit up, whipping off my glasses to look at her in complete shock, "Whoa, what?!"  
      
"Chisely!  That's my _sister_ ," Pollux states when he finally stops choking, looking scandalized, horrified, and uncomfortable.  
      
"So, that's my grandson," Chisely replies, tripping over the unfamiliar word and gesturing to Ninuk who stands awkwardly, seeming to debate whether or not to run away.  "It's not like I said _you_ should have sex with her."  My mouth drops open, and Raval just chuckles, shaking her head at her mother.  Pollux chokes again, and Chisely studies him impassively, "Relax boy."  
      
"What the hell?"  He coughs.  
      
"Let's take this down a notch," I declare, getting to my feet and brushing past Ninuk to crouch beside Pollux and lightly pat him on the back as he finishes coughing out water.  I look at Chisely, "No sex.  Zero, zippo, zilch, nada, at least until I'm out of high school.  What the fuck, Chisely?  Ninuk and I are...ew...no!"  I can't even finish the sentence, turning beat red while Pollux just coughs some more and drops his head between his legs to try and breath.  I rub circles onto his back, absolutely mortified and embarrassed.  
      
Ninuk seems to have recovered slightly and leans against the doorway, studying me curiously, "Do you have something against sex or is the 'no sex' just a principle thing?"  
      
My gaze meets his suspiciously, but his eyes hold nothing but genuine curiosity.  I'm not sure I really want to have this discussion, though I answer regardless.  "I have something against _meaningless_ sex.  So, I guess it's a principle thing?  I get that some people see it as a recreational activity, but I just don't.  I think that sex should be to bring people who have actual feelings for each other and are committed to each other—at least for the time being—closer together not just as some blasé thing that you just do because you want to.  I think it's too personal to just be some kind of recreational activity."  
      
Both Chisely and Raval are looking at me just as inquisitively, though not critically, as Ninuk who's silently mulling over my words.  Khione, who has reappeared with some young adult book about aliens I'd lent her, is watching me from over the cover intently.  Pollux, no stranger to this debate, just leans his head on my shoulder and closes his eyes.  Ninuk nods to himself, "And your age limit?"  
      
"Based of my personal principles," I shrug, "I don't think teenagers really have the emotional capacity or maturity to have sex.  It's not our fault, but we know nothing about the real world.  Everything we know about love or sex is taught to us through mass media, which paints a negative picture of love _and_ sex _and_ relationships that we can't sort out until we actually experience those things in the real world, not the happy little bubble of social media, peer pressure, and parental protectiveness most teens live under.  I'm not saying that's true about all of them, but it is true about most of them."  
      
"Is it true about you?"  Raval asks.  
      
"Yes," I begin at the same time Pollux answers, "no."  We look at each other for a moment, studying one another before I shrug, "It doesn't matter if it is or not.  I should practice what I preach."  
      
Ninuk frowns and tilts his head to the side, "I'm very familiar with the real world."  
      
I quirk and eyebrow at him, "Did I point out you specifically?  You asked, I answered.  Everyone grows up at different speeds.  Besides, aren't you technically an adult."  
      
"By your society's age standard?  Yes," he smirks and crosses his arms over his chest before raising an eyebrow at me.  "And what of animals then?  They don't have sex for love."  
      
"They don't just do it for sport either," I argue.  "In animals, it's an instinctual need to reproduce to further their species.  Humans are capable of rational thought and are, therefore, aware that they don't have to start popping out babies as soon as they're able to in order to keep their population up.  Your point is moot."  
      
Ninuk purses his lips and stares at me, his lips curving into a slight smile as he shakes his head.  Raval blinks at me, "So you don't believe in sex before marriage?"  
      
Pollux snickers, "Please, Ana, don't believe in the whole institution of marriage."  
      
I flush and shrug when Ninuk raises an eyebrow at me, "I mean, the whole institution was created by a male-dominated society to prove ownership over a woman and legitimize their male heirs.  And now it's completely shit because nobody actually _stays_ together.  It's not some like binding contract of love and commitment.  It's an accepted part of civilization that most people are bullied into through the pressure of polite society, so women don't feel like sluts and men can look respectable up until the point where they have a divorce over some issue they refuse to work out, leaving a broken home and kids with issues."  Khione gapes while Raval shakes her head.  Pollux shakes in silent laughter at my rant, and Ninuk just presses his lips together, amused.  I look at Raval, blushing, and answer her original question, "I don't believe in sex before maturity, some type of commitment, and mutual feelings."  
      
"So you believe in mating then?"  Chisely says, her eyes twinkling for some unknown reason.  
      
I pause, frowning and wondering at where she was going with this.  I meet Pollux's eyes, and we shrug, "Yeah, I guess so."  
      
Chisely looks up at Ninuk, "I like this one."  He shoots her an evil look while Raval shakes her head at her mother.  Khione giggles, ducking her head back behind the book, and Pollux starts laughing again.  I look around the room at the all wondering what the hell they all know that I don't before sighing.  
      
A shrill whinny pierces the air before I can ask what they're all so smug about, and the boisterous sound of beating wings and loud breathing of a horse fill the air a moment before a massive, chocolate brown pegasus with a short tail, Mohawk mane, and three pink scars marring the horse's face—similar wounds on its body—lands besides Nierox.  The pterippi rises smoothly to his feet to greet the new arrival; the rider hops off its back effortlessly, dropping into a kneel before rising to his feet.  Xerxes moves swiftly to stand in front of me, eyeing the familiar man.  
      
" _K'irech, skepi-lieru_ ," he greets Ninuk before looking over at Pollux and I, lips curving into a smirk as he nods at us, "Ana, Lux."  
      
"Agrit," we say simultaneously, by way of greeting, lacing our fingers together and watching him warily.  
      
"Not that I don't love seeing you, Agrit.  But I'm assuming this is not a social call," Ninuk prods.  
      
Agrit nods, leaning against his massive warhorse's side.  I'm kind of stuck on how beat up the gorgeous animal is; Agrit is a politician, not a warrior, so why the hell does his pegasus look so scratched up?  "The _neebtille_ has called an emergency meeting."  
      
"Under whose directive?"  Ninuk demands quietly and impassively, though it's the dangerous, 'ready to attack' tone.  
      
Sighing, Agrit runs a hand through his thick long, dark locks, "Skålqa, though I conferred."  
      
"Why?"  
      
"The rebels are stirring up trouble in both our regions; perhaps not in yours since they have an absurd amount of faith in you, but with the arrival of the refugees, the attempt to make us heel like dogs by the _œksid_ soldiers, _and_ the incarceration of several warriors, people are beginning to pay heed to their talk."  
      
Ninuk frowns and mumbles, "It was bound to happen sometime."  Agrit and I nod in assent; the Tstori rebels have been tolerated and relatively quiet, suppressed by the warriors for sometime.  However, nothing lasts forever, not even _that_ measure of control.  Ninuk looks up at Agrit, his face hard, "And everyone has arrived?  All the _torz_?"  
      
Agrit nods, "Not the _lieru_."  
      
"He's away," Ninuk replies vaguely, glancing at me for a moment thoughtfully before looking back at Agrit.  "Go there, and I'll follow.  Try to keep them from getting too carried away."  Snickering, Agrit inclines his head before mounting swiftly and taking off.  Ninuk frowns, glancing over at his tack, which flies from its windowsill and over to the awaiting pegasus, latching itself on of its own accord while Ninuk turns to me.  He presses his lips together, hesitating before his face hardens, "Come with me."  
      
"To the meeting?"  I exclaim, appalled, "I can't."  
      
"You will."  
      
"Why?"  I demand harshly; I'm not actually angry but that's a better emotion to portray than fear.  I'm deathly afraid of doing this.  
      
"Because I want your opinion," Ninuk tells me.  
      
It's a lie and a blatant one.  Chisely scoffs while I sigh, shaking my head and tugging the end of my hair with a quivering hand, "I hope you can come up with a better excuse than that when they ask you the same thing."  
      
Ninuk smirks, mounting Nierox effortlessly.  He grabs my hand and swings me up behind him, glancing at Xerxes who shakes his whole body violently before huffing and heaving himself up into the air.  Ninuk nods at his family, and I wave to Pollux who grins at me encouragingly before Nierox takes to the sky.  
      
With each moment the protruding, plant-covered palace grows closer, my stomach churns more and more, vicious knots replacing fluttering butterflies.  The first time I'd been here, it had been a disaster, which may sound a little dramatic but remains true.  I'd been fed to a tank of sharks worked half way into a feeding frenzy, fighting for spots on a nonexistent pyramid of power.  I'd been belittled, insulted, and had made enemies simply by breathing.  Ninuk had been impassive and cold, a terrifying side of him that I didn't necessarily trust.  I can't imagine going in there a second time will be any better.  
      
Nierox drops altitude, following Xerxes between an archway made by two trees and ignoring the curtain of moss hanging down between them.  We pass through into a large, circular room that resembles both a cave and a landing bay; dozens of pterippi mill around, drinking from the mosaic, raised pool in the center of the room and eating from troughs that line the walls.  It's dim, lit only by a few lanterns hanging from the walls, but I can see tiny staircase, hidden in an alcove and a set of broad double doors that, no doubt, lead into the gorgeous room of death and politics I'd been in only days before.  
      
I slide off Nierox's back, legs shaking, and Ninuk follows, standing beside me.  I take a deep breath and walk towards the doors, purposefully squaring my shoulders to give some vain illusion of confidence.  Ninuk grabs my hand and stops me, looking down into my eyes seriously.  
      
"Don't be nervous," Ninuk cautions.  
      
"Too late," I laugh weakly while he just holds my gaze with the utmost seriousness.  
      
"I promise everything is going to be fine.  However, I'm about to do something that is going to anger a lot of people in that room.  Yes, it's a power play.  And, yes, it may put you in more danger, though I can't imagine by much.  I will keep you safe.  Agrit will keep you safe.  And all the warriors will keep you safe; they love you entirely too much," he smiles at me gently, and I nod, swallowing hard wondering where the hell this is going.  "All I ask is that you try not to allow them to shake your confidence, don't show fear, and listen to me, because what I am about to do will change everything."  
      
I can feel the blood drain from my face.  "Ninuk—" I begin, uncertainty causing my voice to waver.  
      
He shakes his head at me, kissing my forehead before looking back into my eyes, "Trust me."  I have to so I take a deep breath and nod.  Ninuk smiles half-heartedly, letting his own nerves show for just a moment before his impassive mask slides into place, "Good girl."  
      
Ninuk pushes open the door, holding it aside for me, and I glance at him for a moment before walking in.  I freeze almost immediately as nearly eighty pairs of eyes swivel and focus on me.  Like last time, most are dressed in formal attire, colorful, ornate overcoats, robes, leggings, dresses, and skirts with their hair done up and jewelry on; I feel ridiculously underdressed in my jean shorts and graphic hoodie.  They're also sitting all around the room on benches, the only empty place being a lone chair heaped in weavings and animal fur at the head of the circle in front of the windows.  Ninuk puts a hand on my lower back, guiding me around the outside of the circle to the chair, not stopping until we're standing beside it.  
      
"Sit," he leans down and whispers in my ear.  
      
I sit while he stays just behind me leaning against the window sill.  A low murmur breaks out, and Xerxes pops up beside me, sitting at my feet and resting his head in my lap.  Releasing a jagged breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding, I stroke Xerxes rhythmically, trying to relax myself...it's not really working.  
      
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Ninuk cross his arms over his chest and look over the gossiping _neebtille_ coldly, "Have we been convened to gossip or to discuss some topic of actual importance?  I wonder."  
      
"What do you think you're doing?"  A man hisses at Ninuk, sounding alarmed.  I'm assuming he's one of the _torz_ who couldn't attend last time since I don't recognize him.  
      
"Attending an emergency meeting of the _neebtille_ , Iłru, evidently.  Or, at least, that's what I was lead to believe," he sweeps an icy gaze at the council members still murmuring, and most of them halt their conversations seeming more than a little bit agitated under his gaze.  
      
The man's expression darkens, and he unwisely persists under both Ninuk's challenging gaze and Xerxes's threatening one.  _What an idiot_.  "With all due respect, _skepi-lieru_ ," I roll my eyes at his use of Ninuk's title to make nice; it won't work, 'with all due respect' is what everyone says right before they insult you, "I do not believe you fully comprehend the implication behind these brash...actions."  He shoots me a glare as he says the word 'actions' like he's mentally replacing the word with my name.  
      
Xerxes growls threateningly while Ninuk pushes up from his spot on the window, walking forward to stand directly behind me and resting one hand on my shoulder.  Kyrm glares at the hand like she's silently willing it to catch on fire while several of the _neebtille_ look between the pair of us with dark looks.  I cringe slightly, and Ninuk's hand tightens on my shoulder until I still.  The room is deadly silent; no one daring to even breath.  It remains silent, Ninuk staring with dangerous intensity until Iłru shifts uncomfortably under his gaze.  
      
"By all means _torz_ , enlighten us on my follies if you truly think I am so inept that my decisions have not be weighed and considered carefully before being carried out."  
      
Everyone in the room looks at the unfortunate _torz_ , regardless of whether or not they side with him.  And the warriors standing against the wall smirk, obviously supportive of whatever move their general makes.  For a moment, Iłru meets Ninuk's gaze defiantly before dropping his eyes to the floor, bowing his head in submission.  
      
There's a collective exhalation of breath, and Ninuk relaxes, though I can feel his smugness coming off him in waves, "No?  Then if you're quite finished I believe we have more pressing matters to attend to than whether or not you find me intelligent enough to make sound decisions."  He turns his head to look at a familiar woman, "Skålqa."  
      
She inclines her head respectfully, her eyes twinkling in amusement, "The arrival of the refugees has stirred the Açh dangerously.  They are becoming more active, and people who sympathize with the Nirutū or have family or friends that are warriors are beginning to listen.  I fear rebellion."  
      
"They need to be controlled, and the situation contained," another man agrees.  
      
"Why should we contain them?  Perhaps we ought to listen," Kyrm speaks.  
      
"And become like the Nirutū, Kyrm?  They will overrun us, easily," Gajip cuts in, shaking his head.  "I do not like the _œksid_ , but I do not like the idea of war with them even more."  
      
"I agree with Kyrm.  I fear imminent attack regardless of whether or not we remain in seclusion," Veliu comments though he seems loathe to admit to agreement with Kyrm.  
      
"And for what reason would they attack us?"  Agrit drawls, raising an eyebrow.  
      
I frown and look up at Ninuk questioningly; he meets my gaze and kneels down beside the chair, raising his eyebrows and inviting me to ask.  "Did the Tstori agree to an alliance with the Nirutū?  Is that why you're taking in refugees?"  
      
Ninuk shakes his head, "The chief reached out to us, yes, but only to provide asylum for the refugees.  We have not crossed the plains at all, either, to avoid any kind of indirect or accidental involvement.  Every refugee that we took in went through a safe house."  
      
"The Jennings?"  
      
"Yes, and they acted as envoy for the _lieru_ of the Nirutū, never mentioning an alliance of that kind.  Why?"  
      
"The army's concerned that the Tstori will ally with the Nirutū.  If they're really concerned that the Tstori will involve themselves then they _will_ attack, Ninuk, without a doubt."  
      
Someone coughs, and we both look over to see the entire _neebtille_ staring at the pair of us.  Some (Agrit) are smirking smugly, some (Morü) look like they've just swallowed something sour, some (Kyrm) look positively infuriated.  The warriors all seem extremely amused.  My eyes catch on one person who look more infuriated than Kyrm: Dierien.  He catches my gaze, a malevolent look in his eyes, and I turn away quickly, narrowing my eyes at Ninuk, "What did you do this time?"  
      
Ninuk smirks at me smugly, "Reinforced my original point."  My eyes narrow further into slits, and his smirk becomes more exaggerated as he leans in closer to me, "This whole time I've been acknowledging your position as _szekzet_."  I grit my teeth and resist the urge to smack him as he smiles impishly and gets to his feet, clearing his throat pointedly, "It is speculated by the _œksid_ that we have intentions of allying ourselves with the Nirutū."  
      
"And perhaps we should meet their expectations!"  Morü cries, "It could save us."  
      
"Or it could bury us," Ølymyniera adds.  "They will annihilate without mercy should we prove to be a threat to them."  
      
"They will never allow us to stay here indefinitely, perhaps we should act first," Kyrm proposes.  
      
"At least if we ally with the Nirutū then we have more of a chance," a man asserts, nodding in agreement.  
      
"And where will our refugees run to?"  Ninuk questions dryly, shaking his head.  
      
"It is unwise to enter a war with them simply because of what they _might_ do."  
  
"And it is unwise to remain waiting like a boar for slaughter just because the _might_ not," Pierl replies.  
      
Bitch has a point.  
      
"They will attack us for sure if we allow ourselves to be swayed by radicals and join hands with our aggressive southern neighbors!"  
      
"Better we attack on our own time than wait for them to decide they are through with us!  They will never allow us to stay here.  They hate and fear us.  A day will come when they will force us to leave or exterminate us.  Why wait for that day to come?  We should send them home," Kyrm expresses matter-of-factly.  
      
"And as you are not a warrior, you seem to harbor the delusion that we would somehow be capable of winning.  We know far too little about them.  They are dangerous and volatile, and I would be remiss in my duties if I allowed our warriors to engage them without provocation and without any knowledge of their tactics.  We would be dangerously vulnerable to them," Ninuk comments tonelessly.  
      
Kyrm rolls her eyes, snapping, "They have attempting to control us for months now!  You cannot honestly expect us to just live with it!"  
      
"Until we have a plan that does not include turning hundreds of men and women into fodder for a meaningless premeditated strike, that's exactly what I expect."  
      
Scoffing, Kyrm glares at him, her hands gripping the edge of the bench tightly as her knuckles turn white, "Let's be honest, Ninuk, you are afraid that an attack of that magnitude with anger your precious _œksid_."  
      
Ninuk's eyes narrow on her, and he tsks, "Temper, temper, Kyrm."  He purrs at her dangerously, "That's one button you don't want to press.  _Avar_?"  Her jaw clenches, but she nods.  
      
I shake my head and mutter, "This is ridiculous."  
      
"Oh?"  Ninuk needles quietly and amused as the _neebtille_ all begin to argue amongst each other, "What do you propose we do?"  
      
Once again, Ninuk crouches down beside me, cocking his head and waiting patiently.  I sigh, "Kyrm's right.  They hate the Tstori.  They're scared and hateful and think that you all are nothing more than unintelligent, tree-hugging barbarians.  And, yes, chances are they will try to take over because they'll want all the natural resources on your land and the tribe is unpredictable and the population will grow.  But following  a bunch of radicals who want to just want revenge on people _they_ hate and fear does no good for anybody.  It will be a bloodbath, and you will lose unless you're hiding semi-automatics and biological weapons in your basement."  
      
Ninuk's eyes narrow, and he takes a deep breath when Veliu speaks up, making me jump since I'd been unaware we had an audience, "So should we ally with the Nirutū?"  
      
I shake my head and grimace, "Not until you have to, but it would be smart to keep that option open.  Jumping into an alliance with the Nirutū will prompt an attack without a doubt.  It will be swift and immediate, not mention the Nirutū are not the most levelheaded individuals I've ever come across," I say diplomatically while Agrit smirks and the warriors roll their eyes and grumble.  "They'll pull you into an all out war."  
      
"So we are to do nothing?"  Someone protests.  
      
"I didn't say that.  You're at impasse, for sure.  Dealing with Eden is a total minefield.  They're nervous and on edge and sitting on the precipice of a complete genocide.  They don't like you.  They don't trust you.  And they certainly don't think very highly of you.  It's hard to trust people you know nothing about," I say quietly.  
      
Ninuk meets Agrit's gaze before looking back at me, "If we reached out and spoken to them would it help?"  
      
"I can't say for sure," I admit.  "Mayor Newlin is a fair man, but he's under a lot of pressure.  The soldiers want to get rid of this problem before it becomes one, and the two most affluent families in town are still holding that incident with those three boys who came here in December against the tribe.  It depends on what you'd talk to them about?"  
      
"Negotiating the return of our warriors," someone speaks.  
      
"Defining our interaction and their trespassing."  
      
"Both of those, I want to determine where we stand and outline the relationship we have with each other," Ninuk finishes.  
      
I hesitate before sighing tiredly, "Honestly?  I doubt you'll get anywhere.  Hate is a powerful thing, and they won't honor whatever agreement you make forever.  However, it might be worth a shot.  At the very least, it might put them a bit more at ease.  At least they'll know where you stand."  
      
Ninuk nods while Veliu asks, "Is there anyone we'd meet with that can be trusted to hold to their word or with information."  
      
"No," I say quickly, "not that I'm aware of.  They're proud and set in their ways, and those who _could_ be trusted are far too easily influenced to be of any use to you.  Just don't underestimate them even though they'll certainly underestimate you."  
      
"I think since this is her brilliant idea we should send her to negotiate on our behalf.  She is one of their own," Pierl sniffs.  
      
"Absolutely not," Ninuk asserts before anyone else can comment.  "They are unstable and dangerous where we are concerned.  I'd prefer she remain alive."  
      
"They would harm their own?"  Kyrm sniffs, "For speaking for us?"  
      
"For knowing us well enough that we told her anything," Agrit utters in his slow, monotone, looking at her through half-lidded gazes.  "Eleven people helping move refugees went missing.  No matter what they claim, let's not pretend that we don't know they will never again see the light of day."  
      
Ninuk gets to his feet, holding a hand out to help me up before looking around at the _neebtille_.  "It's decided.  Agrit, send a message to their mayor as well as the _lieru_.  You and Skålqa will come to negotiate with me.  Understood?"  There's a general mumble of consensus, and Ninuk nods, "Excellent, we're adjourned."  
      
Wordlessly, Ninuk leads me from the room and down the hallway, pulling me out onto a balcony overlooking the city.  Xerxes leans over the railing, and I sit on it, raising an eyebrow at Ninuk who leans against the wall with an exasperated sigh.  I don't tell him everything's going to be okay, because we both know that's bullshit.  Eden is a time-bomb when it comes to the Tstori; we're both aware that they're on a collision course of the worst kind.  I decide to aim for a distraction, "Where _is_ the _lieru_?"  
      
Ninuk snickers, "Honestly?  Kvon, the _lieru_ , is in the south with his Nirutū lover."  
      
"How responsible of him," I comment dryly, shaking my head and looking at Ninuk who doesn't look the least bit thrown by this.  "I'm guessing he does this often."  
      
"His absence has been regular since I came of age to hold _neebtille_ meetings myself."  
      
"And how old is he?"  
      
Smiling growing, Ninuk tries to hold back more laughter, "Old enough that this shouldn't be an issue."  
      
I throw my hands up triumphantly, "I knew it!  And I'm guessing his mistress is some angelic looking twenty-something-year-old that seems all sweet and innocent but is a total freak with a mounting bitchy side, right?"  I nod my head, eyes wide and lips pursed.  
      
Laughing, Ninuk grins and nods, "Sytri certainly fits that description save for the fact that 'mistress' is generally reserved for describing females."  
      
"Oh..." I draw out the word, nodding knowingly, "gotcha.  Kvon has a thing for young, sexy boytoys."  I pause frowning and tilting my head at Ninuk who raises an eyebrow, "Is _that_ why he chose you as his successor?"  
      
Ninuk shakes his head at me but smirks, "I don't know," he admits tonelessly, "I never deigned to ask."  
      
I shrug and smile at him, "Regardless, I think it was a good decision."  
      
"I'm glad you approve," Ninuk remarks with quiet sincerity, and I look over at him, meeting his gaze.  We sit together in comfortable silence, enjoying each other's company and the delightfully warm spring day.  
      
The calm before a storm.


	17. Chapter Seventeen

"Happy April Fool's Day!"  Quinn jokes, coming up behind us.  
      
Pollux and I shush him tersely, our eyes locked on the unusually heavily guarded building before us.  Above, the pterippi circle in the air, awaiting their masters' return; Xerxes flies with them, twirling lazily in the air.  No one notices but me.  
      
I'd been expecting the Council to agree to meeting with the Tstori envoy; it made sense and kept up appearances, not mention I'm sure they had a list of demands that they wanted discussed.  As it was, it still shocked both Pollux and me to hear they'd not only accepted but set a date and _invited_ them to bring some of their own warriors along with.  What had really thrown me was that they'd offered to meet at the city hall; at least, it had been a shock until Ninuk pointed out that it would be easy containment should they decide to kill off the entire envoy instead of negotiating with them, a point that did not ease my overactive imagination.  
      
A part of me wishes that I could be involved with the negotiation regardless of the danger, but I ignore that internal longing and content myself with sitting beside Pollux, staring at the building like it contains the Tree of Knowledge or the Holy Grail and occasionally snapping pictures of random things with Pollux's tablet (since the boy still hasn't found my purse) to make it seem like we're actually doing something as opposed to blatantly stalking the city hall.  After all, we're not supposed to know what's going on.  
      
Mom and Dad, as usual, had been extremely tight-lipped about the whole thing, discussing it in whispered conversation in shadowy corners when they thought we weren't watching.  My home is, quite honestly, beginning to feel like some kind of Mr. and Mrs. Smith sequel instead of a happy, suburban residence full of amiable children, a duty-bound Marine father, and a doting scientist mother.  Instead, we're all being secretive, holding whispered conversation, giving each other fake smiles, and hiding our electronics like they contain national secrets (though Mom and Dad's actually might).  Even Jace has joined in on our game, talking on the phone in a hushed voice and shutting up abruptly and barking at people whenever they interrupt.  
      
 _Why can't my family be normal?_  
      
Pollux doesn't even pretend not to be watching City Hall.  He has barely moved, barely breathed, barely blinked since we'd first sat down across from the building only moments after the envoy had discreetly been escorted inside the premises.  He narrows his eyes when one of the soldiers guarding the door shifts his weight from one foot to the other.  
      
I elbow him in the side, "Will you knock it off?"  
      
Quinn glances back, trying to see if Xochitl's come out of the the pastry shop yet before pursing his lips and looking between the two of us, "Is there something going on there I should know about?"  
      
Neither of us say anything.  
      
Another guard scratches his head, and Pollux's stare somehow manages to intensify.  I groan in annoyance, "Do you want me to get you a sign too?  'Hello, my name is Pollux Mikos, and I'm watching you because I know what's going on in there even though I'm not supposed to.'"  I'm not sure whether or not I'm joking, but, either way, Pollux doesn't even blink at me.  
      
Hesitating, Quinn looks uncertain, "Um...yeah, do you two know something that I don't?"  
      
"We know lots of things you don't," Pollux retorts before unwisely choosing to continue, "lots of things _nobody_ knows but _everybody_ wants to."  
      
I shoot him a murderous glare while Quinn chuckles uneasily.  
      
Pollux heaves a sigh and looks away, forcing a smile, "April Fools!"  
  
"Right," Quinn begins uncertainly.  "Look, are you two—"  
      
The doors open, and Pollux and I quickly duck our heads behind his tablet, peering over the edge as our father marches out of the building looking livid; several soldiers follow behind him, shaking their heads and talking quietly amongst themselves.  They stop a couple feet from the door, waiting with tense, angry expressions.  Next out are the Ashfords and the Nicholls who, in all honesty, have no reason to be there aside from the fact they help to fund the colony; they press their heads together seeming more than a little disgruntled and annoyed.  A car pulls around, and they hop into the back, not even pausing in their conversation as they climb inside and drive away.  
      
Mayor Newlin steps out, talking quietly with a native man I've never seen before.  He doesn't seem to be 'old' but yet, at the same time, he clearly is.  He walks slowly and decisively, his graying hair pulled back in an elaborate plait; he nods, not seeming nearly as engrossed in whatever Newlin is saying as Newlin himself seems to be.  
      
A number of warriors walk in two rows behind, their faces expressionless, though their jaws are clenched tight.  Just behind Newlin and Kvon, between the two rows of warriors, is Ninuk, Agrit, and Veliu, the latter pair talking in whispers with sharp, angry gesticulations while Ninuk walks between them, lagging a little behind and nodding, though his mind seems elsewhere.  
      
The pterippi land suddenly, making Newlin jump, and Kvon smiles kindly at him, shaking the mayor's hand before mounting smoothly.  The warriors and the Marines eye each other warily.  
      
It's obvious things didn't go well, but I hold on to the last ray of hope as Ninuk looks up suddenly, moving between the herd of pterippi whilst scanning the area, stopping when his eyes meet mine.  I raise an eyebrow, and he shakes his head slightly before swinging up onto Nierox's back effortlessly.  They waste no time in the departure, and Ninuk narrows his eyes on my father—who grits his teeth as they lock gazes—before he takes off too, glancing back at me one last time.  
      
Pollux and I share a dark, hopeless, anxiety-filled look before turning back to a stuttering, shocked Quinn.  
      
"W-w-what?  Those were–—But they—What just happened?"  
      
I swallow hard and glare up at the dazzling sun.  "Nothing," I say tightly, "nothing happened."  
      
All around us, life goes on.

* * *

 

Night calls to me.  
      
Ever since I was capable, I've felt it: the invigoration and rejuvenating feeling that flows through me once the sun drops from the sky; the temperature cools, and the stars gleam above.  Mom likes to think my obsession with staying up late has to do with the fact that Pollux and I never even saw a sliver of the moon until we were nearly eleven, since Mom put us to bed at seven thirty on the dot every night until we finally rebelled against the bed time rule.  Both of us are bitter that Jace somehow got the 'second' child reprieve.  
      
Usually, I find peace and solace in the night that I can't find in the day, and I've been increasingly attempting to test my limits to total sleep deprivation since I can no longer find serenity, especially in my sleep.  Tea, sleeping pills, not even freaking NyQuil can force my dreams to subside; they come anyway, without warning, annihilating my sanity with their malevolent, violent images.  
      
The dreams don't even come as a sequence of frightening events, no monsters or serial killers or faceless kidnappers.  Instead, they are a vague blur of flashes of colors and objects: crimson blood splattering against a wall, a strange needle being injected into an arm, muscles taut with tension, the face a person screaming, fuzzy colors nearly completely obscure the person's features.  The sounds are simple, high-pitched whining like a teapot whistling, the beeping of a heart monitor, drums that used to be played for war, gunshots, and explosions.  My heart races, and my head pounds.  I feel trapped inside my body, mind willing me to wake up, though I never can, not until the dream has run its course.  
      
This new dream is different.  
      
I wake from it suddenly, gasping for breath desperately, eyes flying wide open as I sit up abruptly.  I swing my legs out of bed and rest my elbows on my knees, dropping my head in my hands and gripping my hair tightly.  I cough, gasp for breath, and slam my eyes shut, letting tears leak out the corners.  I shake my head, only vaguely aware that my whole body is trembling, though I'm more concerned with banishing the brutal, nausea-inducing images circling my head than the shock my body's slipping into.  
   
Demetri moves from where he had been curled in a tight ball of furry contentment on my pillow and pads across the bed to me, purring and rubbing his head and side against me for attention.  I shove him away gently, not wanting the black cat hair to stick to the sheen layer of cold sweat covering my body.  Demetri doesn't take the bait and comes back, purring loudly and repeating his actions twice more until I break down and pull him into my lap, petting him with one shaking hand and keeping the other latched in my hair.  
      
Gradually, my breathing slows along with my heart rate, and the shaking subsides, though it doesn't completely stop.  When I can, I take a deep, ragged breath and let it out, kissing Demetri's head and thanking him quietly before dropping him back onto the bed beside me.  I get to my feet, pausing and closing my eyes when a wave of dizziness and instability rushes over me; I'm pulled back to the present when the feel of fur ghosts past my ankle.  I take another deep breath and smile down at Demetri.  
      
I'm too tired, too shaken, too wrung out to go back to bed.  This dream had been vivid, a blatant sequence of events not just random colors, objects, sounds, and smells.  _And Ninuk had gotten hurt_ , my subconscious whispers to me, but I shake my head at _that_ thought, unwilling to admit that that might be one of the reasons the nightmare terrifies me so much.  Regardless, the idea of closing my eyes frightens me beyond belief.  
      
 _What if I see something else?  Will I dream of another person I love being brutally maimed?  Or will I see those usual, yet terrible flashes of...something?_  
      
Demetri follows me downstairs to the kitchen; I flip on the light over the stove, shivering as my bare feet touch the cold tile, and turn on the tea kettle.  Demetri hops up onto the countertop, and I follow his lead, peering down into the dish-filled sink.  I roll my eyes and fight a slight, sad smile before opening the medicine cabinet beside my head, and careful not to disturb anything, I reach into the depths of the dark cabinet, running my fingers lightly along the caps until I find the one I'm looking for, pulling it out nimbly and dropping it onto the counter.  Moving quickly, I scurry around preparing my tea, breathing in the scent of the peppermint-flavored magic elixir before putting the steaming liquid on the counter to cool and reaching for the pill bottle.  
      
"How many of those have you already had?"  A voice asks me quietly.  
      
I whirl around in surprise, dropping the bottle.  I press a hand to my racing heart and frown, "Scare the shit out of me, why don't ya, Lux?"  
      
Pollux's lips quirk into a slight smile, "What's wrong?  Can't sleep?"  
      
"What gave you that impression?"  I ask dryly, leaning back against the counter and picking up my tea to blow on it.  My heart beat continues to race, a side effect, no doubt, from my terrifying nightmare, but I try to keep my fear and troubles off of my face.    
      
Some things I don't want anyone to know.  I've worked hard to keep the reasons for my lack of sleep away from everyone.  I certainly don't want to go blabbing about a nightmare that drove me to a bottle of sleeping pills and has me considering trying to find out if alcohol really can make some people sleepy.  
      
Pollux especially.  My twin is a lot of things, and one of them is annoyingly interested in the dream symbology and the psychoanalytic works proposed by Sigmund Freud...I don't have it in me tonight.  
      
Raising an eyebrow, Pollux shakes the pill bottle and holds it up.  My light expression drops; he's not fooled.  
      
"Did you already take some?"  
      
"Yes," I answer hesitantly, scowling like I've suddenly gotten a bad taste in my mouth.  
      
"How many?"  
      
"Two?"  
      
Pollux looks at me sharply, his look angry and more than a little annoyed, "Honestly, Ana, how many Ambien do you think it takes to kill you?"  
      
"More than four," I say to him, annoyed at his implication.  _What an idiot_.  "Besides, how many people actually die death-by-sleeping pill?"  I give him a sarcastic smirk.  
      
A sickly sweet smile spreads across his face, eyes smug, "I don't know, sister mine, you read _Fahrenheit 451_.  You tell me."  
      
My smile drops instantly.  _Asshole_.  
      
"Yeah, well, chill okay?  If I only take _one_ more will it make you feel better?"  
      
"You're not taking _any_ more, Anastasia Sita Mikos.  I mean, I know life isn't all sunshine, rainbows, and unicorns, but I didn't know you were suicidal.  I thought we were closer than that," he spreads a palm over his chest, feigning heartbreak.  
      
I roll my eyes, "We both know _I'm_ not suicidal.  Too proud.  Too chickenshit.  I just want to pass out into the black oblivion of slumber.  Is that too much to ask?"  
      
"Maybe," Pollux drawls before crossing his arms over his chest and leaning against the kitchen island.  He tauntingly rests the pill bottle on the marble countertop just across from me but millimeters from his fingertips.  He narrows his eyes on me, "Did you have a bad dream?"  
      
Forcing a derisive laugh, I frown at my brother, "You seriously think I'm all worked up over a freaking dream?"  
      
"Yeah," Pollux admits deadpanned.  "You can lie to everyone about what happened all those weeks ago—about your lack of sleep—and have them believe you, but I don't.  I'm used to you staying up all hours of the night, but you've _never_ had bags under your eyes because of it or been mentally exhausted—maybe physically but _never_ mentally—or had such a haunted look in your eye.  They were nightmares, but I let it go, especially since you got better with dealing with them–"  
      
I open my mouth to argue when he holds up a hand and cuts me off.  I glare.  
      
"Don't.  Lie.  To _me_.  I know you better than that, Anastasia," my brother snarls through gritted teeth.  "I'm not stupid.  They never went away, you just figured out a way to hide that from the world."  
      
"You just know _everything_ about me, don't you?"  I bite at him.  
      
Rolling his eyes, Pollux nods, "Um, duh, pretty much."  
      
"Right," I scoff, shaking my head, "this is ridiculous."  
      
I move to leave the kitchen, tea still cradled in my hands when Pollux gets in my way and stops me.  I could just go around the island, but I don't because I'm making a point.  
      
"When are you gonna get it, Ana?  I know you have issues.  I know you hate telling all of your secrets to one person because you never want someone to be able to have all of you in case they betray you.  And I know that you love me and trust me more than most people.  And don't get me wrong, I'm grateful for that, but I'm just wondering when you're going to get it through your head that we're _twins_.  Not 'brother and sister', not 'BFFs', not 'family', we're _twins_.  I shared a womb with you, was born with you, was raised with you...I know you about as well as you know yourself.  I know your quirks and your idiosyncrasies and your habits and your fears just like you know mine.  
      
"You knew when I almost got bitten by a snake because I had just sat, frozen in fear, shaking when we were five.  You knew when I started doing marijuana because I raided the kitchen and ate most of what was in the house when we were thirteen.  You knew when I went into depression after we moved to Niagara—despite the fact that I managed to hide it from three shrinks—because I actually _read_ our class-assigned book and _liked_ it.  I mean—fuck, Ana!—you knew when I became a bisexual because I stopped watching Lord of the Rings because I was uncomfortable that I was actually _attracted_ to Aragorn!  It's infuriating that you even bother to try to hide things from me.  
      
"Someday, I'd really love to know why, but right now, I'll just settle for some basic answers I actually think you're capable of providing!  I _know_ you've been having nightmares because I found the Ambien in the cabinet a week ago.  Dad doesn't sleep.  Mom can pass out at the drop of a hat.  Jace is too young for Mom to even entertain the idea of giving her sleeping pills, and they're obviously not mine.  You've always embraced your insomnia so it had to be something else driving you to take them: dreamlessness.  Obviously," I scowl at his logical deduction.  Pollux smirks grimly, nodding, "You've already taken two, another two won't keep the dreams away, and you know it.  So just fess up, what's so bad you're willing to OD on Ambien?"  
      
I sigh in frustration, raking a free hand through my hair as I turn back to the counter, "Nothing," I mumble.  
      
"Nothing?"  Pollux repeats, annoyed.  
      
"And what the hell are you doing up Lux, huh?  You pass out if you stay awake past nine.  Why the hell are you up at—" I glance at the glowing green lights from the microwave  "—midnight, huh?  Running off to see, Nicky?"  
      
It's a low blow, and anger flickers in Pollux's eyes as his lips tighten, "Don't bitch at me, Ana.  Projecting is unbecoming in a lady."  
      
"Oh fuck you, asshole.  I'm _not_ a lady, and I have no desire to be.  Will you just let me go to bed?"  
      
"Sure, once you tell me what's got you freaking out."  
      
I spin around to face him, leaving my mug on the counter, "God!  It's nothing, alright?  Just some stupid, impossible fucking dream that I don't need you to psychoanalyze just like you're doing to me right now!"  
      
"So it was about Ninuk?"  Pollux muses.  
      
Heat floods to my face, and I can feel it turning beet red, "I-I-I...um..n-no.  Why...what the fuck, Pollux?"  
      
He smirks in triumph for a moment before his face falls, and he frowns, a knowing, nervous look crossing his face, "What happened?"  
      
"Look, it's not a big deal."  
      
"It _is_ ," Pollux presses, looking back at me with seriousness, his eyes pleading for me to confide in him.  
      
"I-I-I just..." I trail off and sigh, "Look, it's nothing, I'm just getting all worked up over nothing.  It's a fucking dream.  It was just so..."  I shake my head and glare out the window before glancing back at my brother, "You don't think they'd do something stupid do you?  Our...special friends...you know, because of the big fat nothing that came out of the meeting?"  
      
Pollux blanches, "The Tstori?  Why?  Ana—"  
      
I shush him quickly, looking towards the black hallway, searching for the sound of something out of place, footsteps or quiet breathing, but all remains quiet, "Are you crazy?  Someone could hear you.  _Dad_ could hear you."  
      
"He's not home," Pollux waves off our father's looming presence indifferently.  "Now tell me what you saw, Ana, now.  This is important."  
      
His tone is alarming, and I look at him, my heart beginning to speed up, "Why?"  
      
"Please, Ana," Pollux is practically begging me.  
      
Hating to see the imploring look in my twin's eye, I sigh and look back out the window, cross my arms over my chest.  Everything in me wants to bury the nightmare in the deepest, darkest recesses of my mind, never to look at it again, but another part that seems infinitely wiser tells me that this _is_ important.  Maybe not as of grave import as Pollux is making it out to be, but the dream isn't to just be dismissed and shoved away because it makes me uncomfortable.  And it's _that_ part of me that just makes this whole situation unsettling.  I take a sip of the cooling peppermint tea and lean back against the counter, running my fingers through Demetri's silky fur before looking back at my brother who is waiting patiently but with determination clear across his face.  He will not let this go, and, as hesitant as I am to really discuss the dream, I'm even more hesitant to start _another_ fight with my brother at midnight.  
      
"Fine," I grumble, "if you insist."  
      
Pollux smiles tightly, "I do."  
      
I give him a withering glare as a chilly feeling spreads over me at just the thought of the dream.  Swallowing hard, I clench my fingers around my warm mug, "I can't tell what time it is exactly.  It's late, though; I can tell because it looks too chilly to be daytime, dark—there's torches lit everywhere—and everyone just _looks_ exhausted.  They're in a clearing.  It looks familiar, but I can't tell where it is exactly because there are so many shadows everywhere.  The Tstori are there, a _lot_ of them, Ninuk, the _lieru_ , and a better part of the army.  It was kind of hazy, you know, like that weird dream sequence in Harry Potter when he invades Snape's mind," Pollux snickers at my off topic comment, but I shake my head and close my eyes in pain at reliving the whole memory.  He quiets, and my now quivering hand pulls the tea back up to my lips in another futile attempt to calm myself, "The Nirutū are there too in their weird animal hide cloaks, body paint, and feathers, nearly the same amount of people as the Tstori, though _they_ look haggard and worn, as well as extremely determined.  They're all talking, but I can't hear what they're saying.  My viewpoint shifts away from them as negotiations seem to get heated.  Agrit looks grim.  Ninuk looks uneasy, like he's expecting to be attacked any moment.  Iroal is perched in a tree with some other archers by this big rock wall with his bow ready and aiming up through the trees.  Just behind him, I can see someone that I feel like I should recognize, but right before I can get a clear glimpse, figure it out..."  
   
My voice trails off automatically as I shake my head.  The images pour into me in quick, violent succession; visions that I'd rather have not at all had, let alone recalled.  I slam my eyes closed, trying to push the images out of my head even as they force their way in with vigor.  
      
"Then what?" Pollux whispers even though it's just us in the kitchen and there is no need to whisper.  
      
I frown and gulp down the bitter taste in my mouth, "Then I heard them coming.  The aircrafts...the...bombers."  
      
I open my eyes, though the vivid images don't leave me.  Instead of seeing Pollux in front of me, I see the military-grade explosives drop from the sky, several falling through the trees in rapid succession.  The screaming, the running, the fiery explosion that shakes the whole area.  Rocks fall from the walls, trees catch on fire and topple.  People scramble for an exit, running left and right, falling over each other, getting trapped under trees.  
      
Ninuk is right there in the middle of the carnage, kneeling over Agrit's fallen form with the saddest, most forlorn expression on his face in the midst of running, explosions, and fire, the red-orange glow, bursts of dirt, and collision of bodies all around him.  He's still in a sea of chaos and pandemonium; all I want to do is scream at him to run, but he can't hear me anyway.  A Nirutū runs towards him, frantic and screaming, and pulls him to his feet.  Ninuk nods, grasping the man's elbow in thanks before they take off at a sprint further away.  Just as they disappear from my sight, another bomb drops right where I estimate them to be, and, I had screamed in terror and startled awake.  My last image is of the fire and smoke curling into the sky, no sign of Ninuk and the Nirutū, and the vague shape up in the parapet has disappeared.  
      
"Ana?  Anastasia?  What happened next?"  Pollux demands looking nervous and more than a little worried.  
      
"I-I-I–" I hesitate, the pictures swarming through my head and drowning me.  Swallowing back bile, I shake my head, "Look, it's whatever.  It was just a fucking nightmare I don't want to relive.  Let it go."  
      
"Ana," my brother says, an order in his tone.  
      
"Lux," I reply flatly, my irritation rising with my anxiety, fear, and discomfort.  "Leave me alone, okay?  It's just a fucking nightmare!  Why do you want to know so bad?"  
      
"I want to help you—"  
      
"Well, you can help me by leaving me alone!"  
      
"How's that gonna help?"  Pollux asks, raising his voice and glaring at me.  "It's not going to help get peace of mind.  It's not gonna help me sleep at night.  It's sure as _hell_ not gonna help Ninuk!"  
      
"What the hell are you talking about?  It was a _nightmare_!  What does Ninuk have to do with anything?!"  
      
Pollux grits his teeth, "I-I can't—"  
      
My eyes narrow on him, "What the hell do you know that I don't?"  
      
"I—" he hesitates, "It's nothing, just something Ninuk and Chisely said in passing."  
      
"What the hell is going on Pollux?  I swear…I'm hot and sweaty and not in the mood to deal with this shit.  I'm about five seconds away from strangling you, Pollux.  I swear to God."  
      
"You don't want to know," Pollux replies sadly.  
      
"Are you fucking with me, Pollux?"  
      
"Why can't you just trust me?"  He yells, finally losing his temper.  
      
"Why can't _you_ just trust _me_?  _You're_ not the one being demanded to relive nightmares that are tearing you apart; _I_ am!  And you're not giving me a fucking reason!  So don't get pissed at _me_ , Pollux.  I'm sorry that I don't think there's a reason for me to relive my most terrifying nightmare again and again for your fucking amusement!"  
      
"And I'm sorry _you're_ so self-absorbed that you can't see I'm trying to help you carry this burden that is clearly weighing you down and will continue to weigh you down until you get a hold of it."  
      
"Get ahold of _what_?!  This is the problem, brother mine.  You won't just _tell_ me what the hell you're going on about so all I'm hearing is a bunch of fucking BS about you trying to help me, even though it doesn't make any sense _how_.  I mean, I'm telling you that it won't help, and you keep pushing me without an answer!  How about you stop making these vague fucking references, talking me in circles, and start telling me why the hell this is so fucking important to you?!"  
      
Anger is bubbling up inside of me like a pot of water waiting to explode; likewise, I can see Pollux seething.  
      
" _What_ is going on here?" Mom demands, storming into the kitchen with her chin-length, black-brown hair sticking up in every direction and her dark eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep.  She looks just as pissed as the two of us.  
      
"Nothing," I snap, glaring at Pollux.  "I was just going back to bed."  
      
"Oh no," Mom says to us, glaring between the two of us.  "Your yelling woke me up at fucking midnight after I've gotten _no_ sleep for the last two weeks, so either one of you starts talking, or you're both going to be—" she trails of when the sound of several planes zooms overhead, and her face pales for a moment before she takes off for the back door.  
      
A loud explosion shatters the night, and we both whip our heads around.  My mug clatters to the floor in shock.  
   
The pair of us dash out the door and onto the porch, looking into the distance where the trees of the forest rise up.  More explosions pierce the serenity of the night, smoke rising in the distance along with a small, warm glow that seems at odds with the circumstances.  Mom's fingers grip the railing tightly, while I stand just behind her, eyes locked on the scene in front of me.  I can feel my body beginning to tremble, though whether its out of shock or genuine chill—considering its windy and I'm in only fleece shorts and a camisole—I don't know.  
      
Mom winces with each blast, and I sob, pressing a hand to my chest.  The tears pour out of me and spill down my cheeks.  I collapse to the hard wooden ground, still weeping, one hand clenched over my chest and the other wrapped around my stomach trying to catch my breath.  Arms wrap around me, and I feel Pollux pull me onto his lap; I grip his shirt tightly turning my face into his chest and bawling.  
      
It's literally my nightmare incarnate.  
      
The explosions halt, and the sound of planes flying back to base is the only sound over my sobs.  The smell of smoke permeates the night, and Pollux's arms tighten around me.  I don't know how long we all stay there, locked in our own worlds.  Eventually, I look up at Pollux in shock, shaking my head, and a guilty expression crosses his face, "I'm sorry, Ana," he kisses my forehead, "I'm so sorry."  I don't know what he's sorry for, but I don't have the breath in my abused lungs to ask.  
      
It doesn't matter anyway.  
      
He's gone, regardless.  And I saw it happen.


	18. Chapter Eighteen

A terrible April passes into an equally terrible May.  Aurora seems to have altered the expression 'April showers bring May flowers' since the showers have held out an extra month.  The dreary weather has done nothing but reinforce my melancholia, to the point where even Pollux can't stand to be around me for more than a few hours at a time.  The gray clouds never yield in the slightest, hovering over the entire northern half of the _country_ —according to my mother's meteorologist co-worker—like some kind of ominous ghoul.  
      
Most days are spent on the porch sketching or staring into the gray gloom from various angles.  The miserable days seem like the perfect opportunity to try my hand at an activity that hasn't held any interest for me since elementary school: shading.  Each black and white image, though, is haunting.  There are no trees or portraits or stills of quaint Eden life.  Every single image is of _that_ night, of the explosions and the destruction and the hopeless pit of chaos and of Ninuk...but mostly of the figure I can't place.  The one who stands apart from the rest but, yet, seems to play an integral part.  I have dozens of black and white sketches of a gray, shadowy figure that haunts both myself and every member of my family that catches a glimpse of the image.  After all, it's not a far likeness from Slender Man, some faceless, shadowy serial killer in a computer game my brother loves to play.  
      
Still, for one day, I abandon my pursuit of putting a face to my personal Slendy to photograph my family and friends running around the beach, ignoring their attempts to pull me into some of the pictures.  I'm in no mood to have my photograph taken, and besides, I'm far more comfortable behind the camera than in front of it.  My hair always looks a mess.  My body always looks thirty pounds heavier than it actually is.  And I just don't think it captures me flatteringly at _all_ ; plus, my friends have the attention spans of a fruit flies, only seeming capable of taking pictures of me making weird ass faces, little flyaway hairs sticking up in a million directions, and looking like a bum, quite generally.  I don't trust my friends with either my camera or taking a halfway decent image of me, and, since they love putting up everything on their social networking sites, I can live without.  
      
"Ana!  Ana!"  Jace cries, and, still looking through the viewfinder, I yank my camera around to see her waving at me with a huge smile as the rough waves crash against her backside.  I wave back and snap several pictures in rapid succession as Pollux arrives from out of nowhere and picks her up before tossing her in the ocean.  
      
I bite my lip, the side of my mouth quirking up in an abrupt half-smile that lasts only a nanosecond before disappearing again.  Wordlessly, I sit back down on the aged quilt, flipping through the photos on my camera before shifting my gaze up to the subjects in question.  
      
Jace has brought along her two new best friends, Sylvia Julien, a gorgeous African-American with an admirable weave—considering that we only have one place to get hair done in the colony—and a ridiculous amount of curves considering she was _ten_ , and Chloe O'Shaunessy, an ivory-skinned, redheaded, Irish-American whose father is straight off the boat from Dublin and whose mother is a Bostonian Irish woman that talks with a slight Irish lilt and wears too much makeup.  The trio splash around in the waves, pretending like they're not alternately staring at the group of middle school and high school boys playing a hardcore game of volleyball, shirtless and in swim trunks, despite the fact that it's gray and barely 72° outside.  Every now and then, Pollux ditches our own group of friends to run over and dunk one or two of the girls before splashing back the way he'd come and laughing at Jace as he goes.  
      
Unlike Jace and her preteen crew of boy-crazed, girly girls, my own friends are dressed like it's chilly and gray outside as opposed to some hot California beach in the summertime.  Like usual, they're all in t-shirts and sweatshirts with their bathing suits on underneath, just with shorts instead of the usual jeans.  Nicci, Santiago, and Angela are goofing off just at the edge of the water, while Quinn and Xochitl stand beside a couple of our senior friends, Mackenzie, Audrey, and Audrey's boyfriend, Chris, running in and out, pushing each other towards the icy water.  
      
Pollux laughs at something Mackenzie says, shaking his head before glancing over his shoulder at me and sticking out his tongue.  I roll my eyes and wave him off, picking my camera back up and snapping a picture of Quinn physically trying to drag his resistant, shivering girlfriend into the choppy waves, Chris and Mackenzie in some kind of splash war, and Nicci trying to shove Santiago into the water while Angela watches the exchange with amusement.  
      
Pollux jogs over and drops down beside me, laying back on the quilt while I spare him a quick glance before turning both my attention and my camera to Jace.  My 'little' sister is absently twirling a strand of her long, dark hair around her finger, smiling brightly while she talks to some boy that looks to be about twelve or thirteen.  She seems to be aiming for 'seductive' or something of the sort, but she's failing at it on an epic scale since she's ten with no curves, no boobs, and less than no self-esteem to speak of.  Still, I just roll my eyes and snap a photo of her making a fool of herself while her friends just flank her, acting like wingmen instead of the voices of reason.  
      
I shake my head.  _Honestly, kids these days are becoming little hoes._  
      
"Ah, Jace, she's...something," Pollux comments, and I peek over my shoulder at him to find him watching our sister with disgust and disbelief on his face.  
      
I snicker, "She's just 'being herself'."  
      
"When they tell kids that lie in school, they don't really intend for them to go out be prosti-tots."  
      
"'Prosti-tot' implies they get paid.  Which implies they have bills to pay and mouths to feed.  Our sister is not a 'prosti-tot', she's just turning into a little whore for kicks," I tell him offhandedly.  
      
Pollux looks at me sideways, "Someone's in a bleak mood."  
      
"Vitamin-D deficiency.  I need sunlight."  
      
"Right," he drawls, shaking his head.  "You can keep lying to Mom with that line but not me.  You're irritable for sure when you've got no sun, but you're not a dark, depressing rain cloud that sucks the metaphorical sunlight from my life."  
      
"I'd hope not.  You've got a physical cloud sucking the physical sunlight.  If God gave you a metaphorical one too that would just be mean."  
      
"Anastasia," he heaves a long-suffering sigh.  
      
"Pollux," I respond in the same tone, glancing at him with raised eyebrows.  "Since it's so important to you...what?  Did you want to say something specific or did you just come over here to bother me?"  
      
"How long has it been since you smiled?"  
      
"Five seconds ago.  Just because you don't see it, doesn't mean it wasn't there."  
      
Pollux scoffs, "I mean a _real_ smile not some two seconds half-smile thing."  
      
"So I haven't smiled in a while?"  I huff, lowering my camera so I can pierce him with a proper glare, "I don't really see a reason to be all 'happy-go-lucky', okay?  What's there to be happy about?  Our father _bombed_ a historical beauty of a canyon to prevent an alliance against our colonies.  Friends—people we _knew_ and _cared_ about—died or were seriously injured.  Everyone's on edge.  Anti-Tstori sentiment has gone sky high, and we're on the brink of genocide.  I haven't seen Chisely, Raval, or Khione in nearly two weeks.  And I feel like I'm a fucking vampire in one of those retarded _Twilight_ novels.  I mean, I keep waiting for Edward to walk out of the trees and sparkle or something.  What did you expect?  I'm not seeing much reason to be all happiness, sunshine, and rainbows."  
      
For a moment, Pollux blinks at me before a brilliant smile breaks across his face, "Honestly, twin, you need to relax.  I get that you're upset about Ninuk, but I think you need to try to live a little.  It's doing you no good wallowing in your little black bubble of anger, despair, and sadness.  You're going to wind up in depression, and the last time that happened, you gained twenty pounds by becoming an emotional eater and had to go on those pills your sexist psychiatrist, Dr. Sundance or Sundhil or whatever, proscribed to you."  
      
I scowl in remembrance of those pills before sighing and laying back on the blanket, staring up at the layer of fluffy charcoal clouds and wishing for just a glimpse of sunlight, "First of all, it's not all about Ninuk, okay?"  Pollux gives me a patient look that I choose to ignore, continuing, "And second of all, everything I would normally do, I can't.  So, what exactly would you have me do?  And I swear to God, if you suggest swimming, I'm going to fuck common sense and cut both of your wrists, shove you in the water, and find out if Jaws exists here.  _Tepkaå_?"  
      
Grinning impishly, Pollux nods his head, "Understood, Ana Banana.  Now, to answer your question...how long's it been since you practiced?"  
      
" _That's_ answering my question?"  I frown up at him.  
      
He heaves a sigh and whines my name.  
      
Fighting a smile, I look back up at the covering of clouds, "I don't know, however long since Ninuk and I had last practiced."  I swallow hard as I say his name, pursing my lips and glaring up at the clouds.  Thankfully, my brother pretends he doesn't notice this.  
      
"Then, up, because Liesun had been helping me and Iroal learn, so we're going to spar."  
      
I raise my eyebrows, "Right here, right now?"  
      
Pollux beams and gets to his feet, standing over me, "Right here, right now."  He notices my hesitation and holds out a hand to me, "You know that Ninuk would want you practicing, Ana."  
      
Sighing, I eye his hand distastefully, reluctantly taking it and letting him pull me to my feet.  Rolling my shoulders back, I frown at Pollux before forcing my whole body to relax; excitement glitters in the back of my brother's eyes, and I fight a smile, nodding, "Let's go."  
      
Pollux lunges at me first, and I dance away from him easily.  After realizing I am actually capable of offense, I _choose_ not to use it; Ninuk had worked with me to use my ridiculously good sense of judgement for where the next punch or kick was headed to tire out my opponent before actually allowing myself to attack them.  It worked well enough on Iroal who I could take down in minutes.  Liesun had been a challenge, and we were evenly matched; I won some and then lost some with her, which Ninuk hadn't found discouraging.  And Saœr nearly tired me to the brink of exhaustion, but I'd managed to overcome him the one time we'd fought, much to Ninuk's amusement as well as Liesun's.  
      
When Pollux begins to tire, I move in, and we grapple for a while, punching and ducking, moving quickly and fluidly.  Vaguely, I'm aware that most people have turned to watch us, but I'm focused entirely on Pollux on, my body seeming to know exactly what he's going to do before he does it.  
  
 _Watch behind you_ , my mind seems to whisper, and I duck out of the way just as someone else suddenly hops into the fight.  Unaware who exactly it is, I keep in motion, watching both of them warily and managing to subdue the newcomer in a couple moments, but I'm so surprised by his face that I don't realize that Pollux has snuck up behind me until his finger is pressed against my throat and dragged across my neck like it's a knife.  
      
I roll my eyes, chest heaving, and look over my shoulder at him, rolling my eyes, "Unfair, I was distracted."  
      
Quirking his lips, Pollux offers me an amused gaze, "Ninuk would still have your head."  He whispers this in my ear, and my smile drops immediately.  He ignores my look as he back away from me, helping our third fighter to his feet, "That was fun."  
      
Iroal laughs, "It was."  
      
Shaking my head, my lighthearted amusement disappears as I turn to look at him, "What are you doing here?  You're going to be toast if anyone figures out what you are."  
      
Raising an eyebrow at me, Iroal drops down to sit cross-legged on the quilt, gazing out across the water, "Who's gonna know?"  
      
He has a point.  His hair is tied back in a low knot at the base of his neck with a skullcap pulled over it, all of his piercings removed, and his tattoos completely hidden behind a long-sleeved, high-necked windbreaker, basketball shorts, and a pair of brightly colored Crocs.  
      
As I take in his full image, I blink in surprise, my lips automatically curling into a smile at his mismatched, ridiculous attire, "Right...and who gave you _that_ outfit?"  
      
"Pollux left some clothes that he trains in back in Kepīloria.  I just borrowed them," Iroal smirks, raising his eyebrows at me.  
      
Pollux looks just as skeptical at his 'disguise' as I do, "You attended that meeting did you not?  I can't imagine they left their chief archer at home, twiddling his thumbs, when the leader and future leader of your tribe were sitting in the middle of a hostile colony that forcibly took over your lands to begin with.  Can you?"  Pollux asks, raising his eyebrows and smiling at the man benevolently.  
      
Iroal smiles back indulgently, "Oh, I did, but I was...backup per se."  We glance at each other, crossing our arms over our chests and raising our eyebrows; he sighs, "Very well then.  I hide up on the roof.  I mean, you wouldn't exactly expect the chief archer to be weaponless in the middle of a bunch of soldiers.  What good would my bow be from the ground?"  
      
"And how many archers were up there with you?"  I frown.  
      
"None.  Just me."  
      
"Just you?"  Pollux asks, equally as confused as I am.  
      
Eyes narrowing on the water, Iroal's fingers dance nervously on his kneecap, "I am special, I guess, when it comes to my ability for archery and balance.  I am superb enough at both that it was safer for just me to go up there alone."  
      
Pollux and I meet eyes again, questions still lurking in the back of our minds, though Iroal waves them all off as our friends come closer.  Jace frowns at us from the water; we shake our heads, and she shrugs, following her friends towards another small group of boys.  I roll my eyes and turn my attention back to our quizzical friends.  The Mexican dream couple, Aaron and Gabriela, have joined the small party and are peering around with the others, holding hands the way that they always seem to be, but I guess I should just be grateful Gabby swallowed her misplaced anger at Xochitl for the moment.  Their fight over a boy neither of them are even dating anymore had had the pointless drama that only a television sitcom should have.  
      
Gabby asks first, "Um...who's this?"  
      
"Hey," Iroal smiles, holding out his hand.  
      
I smack it down before he can say anything else, "A person who's just leaving."  
      
"Does this person have a name?"  Nicci inquires.  
      
"No," Pollux and I say together, flatly.  
      
"They're so rude," Iroal ignores us.  "I'm Iro."  
      
"Iro?"  Xochitl repeats, eyebrows drawn together.  
      
He nods and grins broadly, "Right, Iro.  And you are?"  
      
"Not in the mood for introductions," Pollux insists.  
      
"I've never seen you," Angela narrows her eyes suspiciously, and Iroal raises his eyebrows at her.  
      
"True," Santiago nods, "where exactly are you from?"  
      
"Say one more word, and I swear–" I begin to threaten while Pollux crosses his arms over his chest, raises his eyebrows, and dares the Tstori archer to continue.  
      
Once again, though, the boy ignores us.  
      
"I am a recluse.  I work out on the plains with my father and don't often come into town."  
      
Iroal's charming smile has everyone convinced, and I roll my eyes, slapping my palm to my forehead while Pollux just shakes his head, lips pressed together tightly, obviously uncomfortable with the current situation.  I open my mouth to respond when Iroal stills, his eyes following a piece of sea glass hopping in archs along the edge of the water.  Frowning, I turn back to him when he cuts off whatever I'd planned to say abruptly, "Ana.  Would you get me a picture from the top of the landing?  I hear the views are _breathtaking_."  
      
Confused, my frown deepens, and Iroal shoots me a sharp look.  Sighing, I nod while I hear Audrey ask, "You've never been to the Landing?"  
      
Pollux looks just as confused as me and moves to follow me up, but I shake my head and give him a small smile before walking towards the stairs.  Just beside it, a lift has recently been installed, and I patiently take it to the top before wandering into the woods and over to the Landing.  
      
By the time I reach it, there's nothing, and I sigh, sitting down on the ledge with my legs hanging over the side.  Below, I can see the beach that had been near empty two months ago dotted with people, and I lift the camera hanging around my neck, peering through the viewfinder and zooming in, to focus on my friends all standing around Iroal, talking and laughing with the charming, enigmatic Tstori.  Pollux sits beside him, arms crossed over his chest with lips pressed tight together, obviously in no mood to babysit the wayward Tstori warrior who seems far too fond of chatting with people he'd be better off staying away from.  
      
Sighing, I release the camera and let its bulk fall around my neck, looking out over the beach.  Its beauty remains subdued today, the gemstones in the cliff face lacking a light to make them sparkle and the amber sand looking dark and brown under the ominous cloud coverage.  The waves grow rougher and rougher by the minute, pounding mercilessly against the shore, and a figure wisely starts ushering children out of the waters and back onto the beach where it's safer.  The clouds are beginning to darken, though I can't tell whether it's due to oncoming rain or nightfall, though it has to be close to both.  
      
"I thought we'd talked about you and that ledge?"  A familiar voice says from behind me quietly.  
      
My eyes mist over with unshed tears, but I don't reply, crossing my arms over my chest and rubbing my eyes with the back of my hand before the salty water even has a chance to fall.  I run my hands up and down my arms as if that will stop me from feeling the cold that's suddenly permeating the air all around me.  It doesn't help to ignore him, though.  I can feel his eyes on me, burning a hole into my back, and he'll push me regardless.  
      
"You're not talking to me now, Ana?"  Ninuk whispers, his tone deathly quiet.  
      
Once again, I don't answer.  
      
I've _known_ he was alive since an excruciating two days after the bombing when Xerxes had attempted to fit his massive bulk through my window so that he could deliver a message personally scripted message from the man.  However, I hadn't _seen_ him since late April.  Nearly two weeks I'd heard nothing from him or anyone, and I'd been expressly ordered not to attempt going anywhere near the Tstori settlements in Ninuk's brief, terse message.  
      
I'm angry at him…for everything.  For waiting two days to tell me he was alive.  For not telling me _anything_.  For not letting me visit the family I'd grown so attached to.  For going to that damned meeting in the first place after I'd warned him about it.  For abandoning me for weeks with no word and expecting me to just be fine with that.  Not to mention for making me feel like I'm bipolar, depressed that I'd been cut off for weeks to suddenly becoming irrationally angry.  
   
Ninuk sighs heavily, " _Öny_ , _Rya_ , and Khione miss you."  
      
As if that will make me feel better.  All it does is get me angrier at him, "And who's fault is it that I can't see them?"  
      
"Ana, I know you're upset—"  
      
"Really?  And how the hell would you know that Ninuk?"  I snap, furiously.  
      
"I'm sorry."  
      
"Sorry doesn't change anything," I reply tersely, getting to my feet and moving to stalk away when he gets in my way.  
   
I slam to a halt, glaring at his chest to avoid looking him in the eye and crossing my arms, demanding an explanation, "I don't want to fight with you, Ana.  And we both know if you walk away angry it will be _weeks_ before we talk again."  He's right, so I don't say anything, choosing instead to intensify my glare.  He sighs, "Ana, talk to me."  
      
"Why?  You seem to know every-fucking-thing that's going on inside my head right now, so why don't _you_ speak, since I don't know a goddamn thing," I hiss at him.  One bad thing about refusing to look at his eyes and glaring at his chest is that I can study quite clearly every scrape, scar, and bruise that came from the explosion.  His tattooed body is covered in criss-crossed slashes and scratches of different depths, shapes, and lengths that have just begun to heal and scab over.  I shake my head at him, sick to my stomach that my own father had done this and beyond pissed it had even happened, "You're a goddamn moron, you know that?"  
      
"Yeah?"  
      
"Yeah," I confirm ferociously, "I fucking told you that if you tried to align with the Nirutū that the army would freak out and respond, but you did it anyway so I'm not going to feel guilty for being angry.  I have every right to be mad at your dumb, bad decision-making ass."  
      
" _I_ didn't make that decision, Ana," Ninuk bites angrily.  "Kvon made that decision alone, and the _neebtille_ supported him.  It was a childish move that got people killed; I understand that.  But I'm not _lieru_ yet, and I can't overturn his decisions, even if they aren't good ones."  
      
"That doesn't make up for the fact that you waited two days to tell me you weren't fucking dead, Ninuk," I hiss at him, though the anger in my voice is somewhat lessened by the way it cracks at the end.  
      
"Ana," he takes a few hesitant steps forward to comfort me, and I recoil automatically, too upset accept his comfort.  Ninuk sighs, "It slipped my mind.  It's not an excuse, but it's just the truth, Ana.  There was barely time to _think_ , let alone remember that I needed to answer to you, okay?  We had to evacuate, disperse the injured to healers, count our losses, and then we were pulled into an immediate _neebtille_ session."  
      
"And in _three weeks_ you couldn't assure me that you weren't dying of first degree burns or something?  You couldn't tell me how anyone was or if anyone I knew was dead?  I mean, come on, Ninuk, what do you want from me?  You get me attached to people and then don't even bother to keep me informed on their state of fucking being?!  I was left all alone without a word from you in this propaganda hole.  What the hell do you think that was like?"  
      
"I don't know!  But there was a lot going on, Ana!  I'm not going to lie to you: my family missed you; _I_ missed you.  But I could barely spare time to eat and sleep, never mind make sure you were safe and updated."  
      
"I'm not a baby, Ninuk.  I can take care of myself."  
      
"And I know that, but this isn't a few people I'm talking about.  It's a group of scared, angry people being stirred by radicals!  I've spent the last few weeks suppressing the Açh radicals, doing damage control, and assessing, then reassessing, this whole situation, Ana!  The _neebtille_ is torn.  Half of them want war.  Half don't.  The Açh is rising in favor, especially since the Nirutū are still being given sanctuary here, and those refugees are out for blood now that their _lieru_ is dead.  I'm sorry that I wanted you safe, Ana, is that what you want to hear?"    
      
We're both quiet, and I feel a little bit of guilt bubbling up.  He looks tired and exhausted, just like how I feel.  This is one issue we're not going to agree on; we're just going to have to get over it.  With a sigh, I run my fingers through my hair and shake my head in defeat.  Ninuk just gives me a look, gaze full of weariness, "I'm tired of arguing and fighting, Ana.  I've been doing it for weeks."  
      
"I'm sorry."  
      
"It's fine."  
      
"I know, but I'm sorry anyway," I tell him with a slight smile that he returns hesitantly.  I put my hands in my pockets, rocking back on the balls of my feet, "I'm still pissed at you for abandoning me for weeks with no communication whatsoever and forcing me into mourning for two days.  But I shouldn't have yelled at you.  You're clearly wiped out.  I mean, you look like shit."  
      
"That's very nice," Ninuk jokes, his smile genuine.  
      
I grin back, "Honesty is the best policy."  
      
"Yeah?"  
      
"Yeah," I manage to reply moments before he's in front of me, wrapping his arms tightly around me.  This time I let him, needing the comfort more than I needed to continue yelling at him.  "You look like you were in the middle of an explosion," I murmur into his chest.  
   
Ninuk chuckles, "I wonder why that is."  
      
"Because you're a moron," I muse.  
      
Without a word, Ninuk hugs me tighter and kisses the top of my head before releasing me and giving me a sheepish look, "You never told me exactly when your birthday was."  I groan, and he laughs, "So I asked Pollux last month."  
      
I glare at him, "I hate you."  
      
"I do not understand why you hate your birthday."  
      
"I hate being the center of attention," I cry dramatically, throwing my hands up in the air and spinning around.  
      
Ninuk comes up behind me and wraps his arms around me, resting his chin on my shoulder while I wrinkle my nose at him. "Always so dramatic," he quips while I struggle to maneuver my arms to elbow him in the stomach, muttering curses under my breath.  Ninuk tightens his hold on me until I give up, huffing in annoyance, "Well, I suppose if you hate your birthday so much and are intent on being uncooperative that you don't want your present..." He trails off suggestively, and I _know_ he's grinning that wicked 'I got you now, bitch' smile.  
      
"You got me a present?" I blink in surprise, oddly touched.  
      
Ninuk nods and reaches for his wrist, unlatching and unwinding a chain I hadn't realized he'd been wearing.  I narrow my eyes on his hand, and he opens it to reveal a gorgeous necklace.  
      
The pendant is a flawless opal lotus flower with royal purple tips with a swirly but pointed intricate tribal sun symbol—the same emblem he wears around his neck and decorates the Nierox's breastplate—in the center of the flower, a coiled ruby dragon at the very epicenter.  The whole pendant measures about the circumference of a film container and hangs on a gold and leather bound string like Ninuk's.  I'm not one for a lot of jewelry, necklaces especially, but this necklace calls to me.  
      
I reach out and lift it up, smiling when I realize the pendant doubles as a ring.  Tears fill my eyes automatically, though I'm not sure why.  
      
"I know it's a few days early, but..." He trails off, seeming a little uncomfortable.  
      
I brush the tears out of my eyes and glance over my shoulder at him.  His eyes meet mine before his lips turn up in a sheepish smile.  We stand in the middle of the clearing with his arms wrapped around me, our faces inches apart, and his golden eyes locked on my chocolate brown ones.  And we remain there, frozen; our faces only inches apart until the a loud clap of thunder startles us from our bubble.  
      
Biting my lip, I clench my fist around the pendant like it will disappear if I loosen my hold just a little, smiling up at him, "You're too nice to me."  
      
Laughing, Ninuk nods in assent, " _Avar.  Ï pėkke_."  
      
I glare at him, "You know, huh?"  He nods again, fighting a smile, while I try to elbow him, "Whatever, dude, don't even pretend—" I begin when the sound of screaming abruptly breaks up our banter, yanking our attention in the direction of Eden.  We frown for a moment when a dull cry begins to rise up followed by more screams.  
      
We glance at each other before Ninuk reacts quickly, grabbing my hand and towing me through the forest towards the sound with swift stealth; I stumble behind clumsily, jittery with nerves.  I drop my necklace in my pocket to ensure I don't lose it, tripping over a branch in the process.  The pair of us freeze when the sound of numerous footsteps accompanied by breaking branches echoes through the forest; I hold my breath.  
      
The people ahead of us speak quietly to each other in indistinguishable tones, but Ninuk's expression darkens, suspicion and anger etched on his face.  He tightens his hold on my hand and pulls out a dagger, flipping it in his hand as we walk forward.  With each step, the sounds and screams grow louder.  Then, the smell hits me: the smell of smoke. I can hear the fast moving footsteps of dozens of feet racing...somewhere.  There are shouts that mingle with whoops of joy and encouragement.  Cries of terror and fear.  Grunts of pain.  Glass shatters.  A collective, angry mob of yelling begins to saturate the air, getting louder and louder.  
      
When we finally reach the trading post, we sneak past it and duck between the townhouses to get a better look.  
      
I wish we hadn't.  
      
For the second time in four weeks, the falling darkness is lit by a bright red-orange glow, this time rising from buildings rather than a distant part of the forest.  Shards of glass from intentionally broken windows litter the ground.  Left and right, people are scrambling for safety.  Mothers and fathers hold their children close to them, shuffling them away protectively.  Kids reach out for their friends or neighbors, clinging to them desperately.  All around is pandemonium and panic; a car is abandoned the middle of the street as heavy rocks are thrown through the windshields by an angry, dangerous-looking group of Tstori.  Men and women scream and holler.  Several Tstori are throwing torches at buildings; terrified families rush out as the flames lick up their homes. I can hear the firetruck blaring in the distance, though it won't make it, not with the streets this crazy and flooded with people.  A handful of Tstori fight with pissed Eden colonists while another group of Eden colonists egg on the pummeling of a young Tstori.  
      
My stomach churns, and my heart pounds in fear for my family.  "I need to—" I start, trying to head for the beach when Ninuk stops me, grabbing my wrist and shaking his head.  
      
"Absolutely not, it is too dangerous.  You're not leaving my sight," Ninuk states grimly, anger smoldering in the back of his eyes.  I open my mouth to argue, but he chimes in quickly, "They won't go to the bay, Ana.  I swear to you, there is no reason to, but, regardless, Iro will take care of them."  
      
I don't try to argue with his assessment, considering I trust both him and Iroal implicitly.  Fighting my rising frustration, I turn to look at the scene in front of me brokenly, knowing there's nothing I can do to help and knowing Ninuk wouldn't let me anyway.  I brush a tear away roughly, angry that my frustration and fear and helplessness have brought me back to this sniveling thing, "What the hell is going on Ninuk?  Did you know—"  
      
"No," Ninuk promises, black fury lacing through his tone dangerously.  He's enraged, and as much as I want to yell and scream and blame him, I can't, "This isn't sanctioned.  These are rebels from the Açh."  
      
I suspected as much, but it's both troubling and relieving to hear, "What the hell happened, Ninuk?  I thought you were suppressing this?"  The question is posed with harsher intent, bordering on outright accusation in my mind, but it comes out broken and weary...helpless, like the way I feel.  
      
"We were," he replies, obviously beyond pissed and frustrated, "I don't–"  He falls silent abruptly, pulling me around the house to hide in a dark tool shed and pressing a hand over my mouth as a Tstori rebel marches over towards where we'd been observing them with suspicion, gripping his knife tightly.  We press against the wall, remaining as still and quiet as possible until he passes, and Ninuk grabs my hand and yanks me from the shed into the forest just beyond, ducking behind the underbrush where we can still have a clear enough view but yet be far enough away from the action for Ninuk to be reasonably comfortable in regards to our safety.  
      
Once we reach cover, he runs his hand through his hair and shakes his head angrily, "I don't know what the fuck happened.  I need to go get—"  
      
Ninuk stands back up, but I wrench him down again.  My eyes narrow on the incoming soldiers, the helicopters appearing to circle overhead.  There's a shout, and several rebels make a break for the woods, though few make it far as the soldiers move in to ruthlessly put them down.  I shake my head at Ninuk, feeling numb and shocked, "It doesn't matter.  It's all over."  
      
I whisper the words, and Ninuk shoots me an astonished, apprehensive look I don't acknowledge.  My eyes stay locked on the scene in front of me.  Locked on the _terrified_ people.  The _bloodthirsty_ people.  The rebels being beaten into submission.  The soldiers that are hauling them away.  The firefighters finally arriving to put out the fire that's eating away at the charred remains of the town homes and the attached, neighboring homes they're infecting.  Those tearful people hovering and sobbing on the street outside who will be homeless tonight.  
      
Xerxes lands soundlessly behind us, twining his solid, scaly but surprisingly warm body around both of us.  My hand is in my pocket, gripping the pendant tightly in my hand.  It might just disappear like everything else seems to be.  And in the midst of all this, thunder roars, lightening strikes, and rain begins to fall.


	19. Chapter Nineteen

On Earth, when my _giagía_ (grandmother in Greek) used to get angry with my father about the ridiculously long hours he'd worked and the week-long business trips he'd spontaneously take across the country, she'd huff and look at Jace, Pollux, and me, asking, "Do you even remember what he looks like?"  Jace had squeaked nervously, reluctant to make a comment that could anger either one of them, while Pollux and I had just looked at each other, unwilling to tell our grandmother that we'd prefer that we didn't.  
      
Today is one of those days.  
      
Despite the fact that Mom doesn't like to admit it, even to herself, she hates days that both her and our father have days off.  Dad seems to be under this archaic idea that he's the man of the house, the king of the castle, or whatever vague references there possible can be to declare him the head of the household, striking fear into the hearts of every man, woman, child, and feline running through the halls.  As it is, he's not even sitting on his soft reclining throne in front of the massive flat screen with a beer in his hand as per usual.  Instead, he's going back and forth with Mom about topics that we're not supposed to know, but that we're all listening to regardless.  Topics that they clearly disagree on.  
      
"I don't like this Galen.  I don't like this at all," Mom insists for about the millionth time, though we all know that insisting she 'doesn't like' the direction the military is choosing to take really won't make a difference to Dad or majority of the colony's inhabitants or the council _or_ the mayor.  
      
"You've said that before, Hanna.  You've been saying that for the last hour and a half, but nothing you say is going to make any difference.  For your own piece of mind, I suggest you stick to playing with your little monkey-man and traitor-boy brains and stay out of this, Hanna," Dad growls at her.  
      
Pollux sighs, and I look up from image I'm absently sketching with raised eyebrows, "They're doing the name thing again."  
      
I shake my head and turn back to my sketch, "Of course they are."  That's how we can tell when they've surpassed being 'pissed' and gone straight to 'I want to tear your fucking throat out'.  They say each other's names in pointed, unnecessary moments of conversation as if _that's_ going to restrain them from yelling at each other.  It never does for very long.  Eventually someone always breaks down and says:  
      
"Goddamn it, Galen!  Don't pull that condescending bullshit with me!  I'm not a two year old!  I'm not some unintelligent cannon fodder.  I'm your _wife_ , and I'm a _scientist_.  And I'm a goddamn human being, which is more than I can say for you recently!"  
      
Pollux and I share a look, "And there they go."  
      
I nod in agreement while Jace makes a noise of disgust, "God, I want to get out of here."  Since we've all been put on house arrest until our parents declare it 'safe', that's not an option.  Instead, Jace stomps out of the living room and up the stairs, pointedly slamming her door when she gets there.  
      
"What the hell is _that_ supposed to mean, Hanna?  If you've got something to say then just say it!  I don't have time to bicker with you."  
      
"No, you're too busy planning the genocide of an entire group of people to bother hearing out the woman _you_ married, you arrogant prick," Mom hisses at him.  
      
I frown, closing my notebook and raising my eyebrows while Pollux looks just as shocked.  Everyone has known that the military plans on retaliating to the attack on Eden by Açh, the Tstori rebels group; Mayor Newlin—the slimy, two-faced bastard—announced that this "heinous attack on innocents, their homes, and their livelihoods" would not go unanswered by Eden.  Everybody has been pushing for an attack, another bombing, or just anything to strike fear into the heart of our so-called enemies.  'So-called' because, according to our father and the local news, the Tstori had reached out yet again to negotiate the release of the arrested rebels back into their hands for sentencing and justice—though Eden had refused outright since they claim the Tstori clearly cannot control them (which I'm sure offended every one of the Tstori warriors present during that discussion)—and to explain that the radical action had been taken by just that: radicals.  However, in response, the mayor had announced that, regardless, not responding may prompt more attacks and increase resistance in Jericho.  It's all a power trip, though; the Tstori won't be a serious threat until we are.  
      
We've been on the road to genocide since the settlement's foundations when the first wave of soldiers had begun spreading stories of human sacrifice, cannibalism, and savage-like behavior that had prompted a wave of anti-Tstori idealism that amongst colonists before we'd even settled.  However, to hear Mom, who has a much better idea of what's going on than either Pollux or I do, elude that genocide is _exactly_ what's right down the road is unsettling.  Like all instances of genocide, it will start small and grow larger and larger, everyone pretending that the victims deserve it or we're doing them a favor or they're some kind of a threat.  It's nice to know that no matter what my mom feels about our nature-in-touch neighbors, she's thinking clearly enough to recognize the signs.  
      
"Genocide?  Genocide?"  Dad demands, his voice rising higher with each syllable.  
      
"Yes, _genocide_ , Galen, do you need a definition?  It's a _deliberate_ and _systematic_ annihilation of a racial, political, or ethnic group."  Mom snaps.  
      
"What we're planning is not genocide, Hanna!  It's a necessary action to ensure the safety of the citizens of this colony!  We are on a _hostile_ planet, surrounded by _hostile_ , unpredictable savages, Hanna!  This isn't a game!  I have a responsibility to the people of this colony to protect them!"  
      
"And _I_ have a responsibility to ensure that we don't end up right back where we started!  With a dead world, disease running rampant, with a lack of oxygen because we've not nearly enough plant life to support the millions of people who need it!  The thing we could _learn_ from these people, Galen!"  
      
"It's retaliation.  It's letting them know we won't be intimated, not the dropping of a nuclear bomb to completely wipe them out!"  
      
"Don't start with that.  We all know the only reason nukes haven't been considered is because the Feds don't want this planet poisoned before we have a chance to exploit it!  And anyone with a brain knows that once you and everyone in this godforsaken colony get the first taste of blood, you won't stop until there's none left!"  
      
"None left for you to study, Hanna, say it," Dad growls at her while I frown, looking back at Pollux.  He doesn't look at me, the wheels in his head seeming to spin a mile an hour.  "This is about _protection_ for me.  And for you, this isn't about consulted morals or deeply rooted cultural sympathy.  It isn't about some kind of responsibility to fellow human beings.  It's about assuaging your own curiosity!  Figuring them out.  Picking them apart piece by piece!  You want to know what makes them tick.  What makes them who they are.  If they're even human!"  
      
"I _know_ they're human.  And I know they have so much to teach us even if no one else can see it!  Going and attacking them, starting a war that you'll see through until there's a handful of them left isn't an answer!  It isn't protection!  It isn't going to help the trillions of people still stuck on a dying planet needing answers we can find here and with them!"  
      
"Attack?"  I chime, whirling around, "What attack?  Mom, what are you talking about?"  
      
Dad shoots Mom a dark look, and she avoids my gaze guiltily, "Nothing, Ana, don't worry about that."  
      
"Seriously, Mom, no.  What the hell is going on?  What are you going to do?"  I snap accusingly at my father.  
      
His eyes narrow into slits, "Watch your tone, Anastasia.  I'm in no mood and deal with your bullshit and complete lack of respect."  I scoff but don't interrupt to say that you have to give respect to get it in return, and that I have no respect for a man willing to liquidate a subgroup of people for the simple reason that they _might_ be dangerous.  Or they're uncivilized.  Or they don't follow _our_ laws.  None of those are reasons to kill off thousands of innocent men, women, and children.  I've never been a hippie, but I'm not a sadist.  "And it's not yours or your mother's business what the military has planned for those warmongering brutes."  
      
"Warmongering brutes?" I demand, outraged and disbelieving.  "Are you kidding me?  You _bombed_ their political leaders for holding a _meeting_."  
      
"They were allying against us."  
      
"Says who?"  
      
"It doesn't matter!  The welfare of hundreds of lives are in my hands.  I can't take the risk that their meeting was about something as mundane as trade, Anastasia.  Regardless, who holds a meeting that late at night about something trivial?"  
      
"Who endangers said lives by refusing to make a treaty because of your own prejudices?  Now who's the warmonger?"  
      
Mom pales while Dad's eyes flash with surprise for a moment before his face hardens, turning cold with anger, "Who told you about that?"  
      
"Does it matter?  _You_ started this by deciding to colonize through hostile means and continued it by breeding chaos and prejudice, Daddy Dearest."  
      
"They burnt our buildings," his voice is frigid and razor sharp.  
      
"You tried to assassinate their leaders," I parry stonily.  
      
"They attacked innocents."  
      
"A group of _radicals_ did that, and, besides, what the hell are you about to do?  We know _nothing_ about them, not where their leaders reside and let alone where the _rebels_ reside.  Innocents are the _only_ people who will be victims of this attack.  You will pull this colony in a war and start a genocide that will rock the foundations of this colony and make the streets run with blood.  _You_ could've stopped it.  And you _should_ have.  But you didn't want to, I mean why did it take the army so long to respond to the attacks?"  I demand.  The questions been bugging me for days, and my father glares at me unyielding.  I'm tired of games; I want answers, "Forget it.  I'm done with this.  I'm going out."  I decide in a split-second, marching for the door and lifting my jacket from the hook as I walk past.  
      
"Anastasia," Mom begins, panicked, shooting a desperate look at Dad.  
      
"Don't you walk out that door," Dad warns bleakly.  
      
"Or what?  You're going to disown me?  Cut me out of your life?  Kick me out?  I don't give a shit, and I haven't for a long time," I admit to him coldly.  
      
"Ana, please," Mom pleads, appealing to Dad once again.  "Galen, you're not honestly going to—"  
      
"Ana, I'm not so sure—" Pollux starts uncertainly.  
      
"Go.  But once you leave this house you're responsible for what happens to you, not me," Dad promises ominously.  
      
I scoff, "Whatever Gandalf.  Why don't you speak English instead of some vague riddle crap.  Oh, and I'll be back when I get back."  
      
"Ana," Mom and Pollux say at the same time.  Mom's tone is commanding but terrified, desperate almost, while Pollux's is full of uncertainty and doubt.  
      
It's too late.  Now, I have a point to prove.  Dad waves me off, "You'll be back soon.  I have no doubt.  But go, get out if that's what you want, you ungrateful little brat."  
      
Shooting him one last furious, defiant glare, I storm out of the house, ignoring the darkened skies and light drizzle as I stomp across the plains.  I don't get very far before Xerxes lands beside me, huffing and nudging me with his massive head.  I offer him a slight smile, pulling up my hood before swinging myself into the thin saddle effortlessly, burying my face into his neck as he takes to the air.  
      
The moist, humid wind clings to me as we dash through the sky, the dark clouds hovering over us threateningly, though neither of us take any notice.  Going as fast as we are, the air is just cool enough that my mood doesn't worsen due to the sticky, gross feeling that always accompanies _such_ humid air.  The pressure presses all around me, wrapping me in an intangible straitjacket.  I blame the unique feeling on the weather, taking a deep, purposeful breaths, and trying to make sure the pressure on my chest and lungs doesn't build to the point of suffocation.  Xerxes circles and zigzags lazily, understanding that I just need to get away, but he pauses in midair, wings stretching out to their full length to hold him in a hover.  
      
Peeking up from his neck,  I peer at the dragon's head where his emerald-topaz eyes are focused on something in the distance under the shadows of the trees.  Xerxes releases a shrill cry, and I frown, barely given any warning before he shoots off like a bullet, down towards the ground.  Scrambling quickly, I press my legs to him and grip the useless reins in an attempt to maintain some kind of balance.  The trees rush up towards us, and my heart hammers in my chest.  
      
 _Don't let me die.  Don't let me die.  Don't let me die_ , I repeat the mantra to myself, closing my eyes and curling into as much a ball as I can on the dragon's back.  
      
His wings unfurl abruptly, halting our swift descent before he lands heavily, not pausing between landing and loping through the forest, hurtling over fallen trees and branches.  Peeking out from beneath my arm, I watch as the ground slowly begins to change from the usual, moist forest floor covered in fallen foliage to a dryer ground encased in a fine layer of ash.  More than the usual broken branches and fallen leaves litter the ground.  I frown, looking ahead to see the disaster zone of a massive hole that used to be my canyon.  The trees have fallen over and are colored gray and black, devoid of leaves.    
      
Xerxes doesn't hesitate, springing off of the ledge and maneuvering us through the dead, burnt, broken trees and downwards.  A shriek of surprise rises, it's barely out of my mouth before Xerxes lands on the well-made and well-preserved rock walkway built into the side of the canyon.  We're only a few feet away from the cave city that I've always admired from the ground but have never actually explored.  
      
Xerxes ducks his head, and I pat his shoulder appreciatively, sliding off his back but not moving from his side, gripping his saddle leather in a tense grip.  Down below, I can see what remains of my canyon in the aftermath of the bombing.  It looks like the cross between a forest fire and...well...a bombing.  The trees are shades of gray and black with whole chunks missing.  Both entire trees and pieces have fallen over and collapsed on top of each other.  Rubble covers the ground and clods of earth look as though they've been overturned, literally blown to the sky.  The cave paintings are frosted with a fine layer ash, blocks of the rock walls having crashed to the ground, breaking some of the wall images apart.  
       
Running a trembling hand through my hair, a numb feeling spreads through me, and I turn away, my gaze catching on the solitary figure perched on a delicate ledge a few meters away, long dark hair whipping in the wind.  I glance at Xerxes who is peering at me with a clear 'get to it' look that makes me sigh.  Nodding, I pat his neck as I walk past him towards Ninuk.  Glancing, back at the striped dragon, I just manage to see him leap from the ledge, landing atop the rubble heap below before peering curiously at the piles, nudging them with his snout.  I stop a few feet from Ninuk's back, "Did you retrieve the bodies already?"  It's a random question, but it seems more appropriate than a casual "hey" would have been.  
      
Ninuk nods, his fingers tapping the ground beneath him in an indistinguishable rhythm, "Only a couple days ago.  We could not leave them _here_."  I nod, not saying anything, forcing Ninuk to look back at me.  Lurking in the back of his eyes is an emotion that I never thought I'd see from him: defeat.    
      
It is abundantly clear that the man I thought near unflappable is tormented by the fallout of the multiple attacks and the retaliation that he has to know is in store for his people. Seeing his stress makes me relieved that I know next to nothing since I don't have to suffer through the decision of whether or not to own up to my knowledge.  Even the _thought_ of whether or not I'd be betraying the Tstori family who'd adopted me if I kept quiet about an attack or if I'd be betraying my neighbors churns my stomach.  Luckily, I have no information and, therefore, no need to grapple with the weight of such a decision beyond metaphorical musings.  I can only _imagine_ how hard that would be, and I prefer it that way.  
      
Ninuk's gaze falls to where my fingers absently play with my necklace, and I blush, dropping it like its burned me while he just looks taken aback, "You wear it?"  
      
I catch the undertone and frown at him, "It wasn't your fault, Ninuk.  None of it."  
      
Ninuk catches my reference to the meeting and looks away from me, guilt and regret flashing across his face.  Frowning in confusion, I narrow my gaze on him intensely.  Not a week ago he was adamantly declaring that the meeting hasn't been his fault, now he's feeling guilty?  _What the fuck is going on?_  
      
"It will be," Ninuk sighs, running a hand over his forehead wearily as he gets to his feet.  
      
I knit my brows, bewildered by his tortured demeanor, "What are you—?"  
      
"Come, I want to show you something," Ninuk states, standing at the opening of the inner cave.  I hesitate but acquiesce when I see how much more lighthearted he looks.  
      
I follow him inside through an artfully carved archway.  The interior is a relatively rounded chamber that manages to suck up as much light as possible while still going deep into the distance.  Antechambers veer off of it, and I peek into one to see a long room just beyond full of crude but sturdy barracks in a bathed in pale sunlight.  Ninuk leads me to the back of the atrium, ducking into a dark tunnel, and I falter for only a moment before trailing him into the gloomy, dim interior, which only seems to grow darker as we progress.  It's not long until we're plunged into nearly complete darkness, and I slam into Ninuk's back, not realizing he'd stopped.  I grip the back of his shirt tightly while he chuckles.  
      
"Relax, Ana," he instructs me while I scowl, not entirely convinced that 'relaxing' is the best course of option when I'm wandering down a dark tunnel in a questionable cave that was very recently bombed, but I let it go and tail him deeper into the tunnel, not releasing my hold on his shirt.  
      
"Is this how you all escaped?"  I probe, trying to distract myself as we wander deeper and deeper into the cave.  The ground beneath my feet begins to slope upwards, and I stumble but carry on.  
      
" _Avar_ ," Ninuk affirms, his quiet voice echoing off the stone walls.  "These tunnels stretch for miles and eventually lead into Graer and some of the outlying cities, though not Kepīloria."  
      
"It seems odd they didn't send in Marines to scope out the area afterwards," I remark offhandedly, not wanting to seem like I'm digging even though I am.  
      
"They did.  Regardless, they would never have been able to catch up since we knew they might assault from the air and left more than a few pterippi and—what do you call them?—unicorns here for transportation purposes," Ninuk confesses.  
      
If I'd been able to _see_ then I would have given him a sharp look, "What the hell do you mean you _knew_ they might drop bombs?  How would you know that?"  
      
For a moment, Ninuk remains so silent that you could hear a fucking feather drop in the tunnel let alone a pen before he finally continues, blatantly avoiding my original question, "Besides, the way is hidden from prying eyes and possesses a door that weighs more than it is worth to move it.  It would take several bombs to decimate that door."  
      
"Then how did ya'll move it?"  Ninuk stops, and I know he's looking over his shoulder giving me a 'how do you think' look.  I sigh.  _Fucking telekinesis_.  "Are you going to tell me how exactly you _knew_ they'd be dropping bombs?  Or, better yet, who stood out on the open walkway away from the proceedings and under Iroal's watching eye?"  He slams to a halt once again while I shake my head, knowing full and well he probably can't see me in the darkness, "I'm not stupid, Ninuk.  You have a snitch."  
      
"I cannot tell you, Ana, so don't ask it of me.  All it will do is cause an argument."  
      
He's right, and I sigh, "Where are we going?"  
      
"There," Ninuk answers, and I can see light ahead of us.  In no time, the slope levels out and opens to a massive stone room bathed in light.  The outward facing wall is open, and I hadn't noticed it from the ground, most likely due to the artful arrangement of stalactites and stalagmites that decorate the massive opening in the wall.  The most amazing thing about the room, though, is the collection of cave paintings that cover the walls and are oddly reminiscent of hieroglyphics the way that the seem to tell a whole story on the rough surface.  They look similar to the ones that are down in the canyon but different at the same time, older and seemingly more primal; my mouth falls open in wonderment as I step around Ninuk and walk up to the wall, hesitating before touching them, utterly dazed.  "I doubt touching the images will cause them harm.  They've lived through enough years that I doubt they are going anywhere."  
      
"How old are they?"  I question, lightly running my fingers across the symbols and images, completely awed by them.  I've never seen something this old up close, let alone _touched_ it.  The closest I've come to 'old' was seeing the Louvre, but somehow, I think that these images outdated the four hundred years or so years that palace can claim.  
      
"Ancient," Ninuk remarks, sitting down beside the window and giving me an amused smile.  
      
"How ancient?"  Ninuk raises his eyebrows at me, and I reciprocate, "Will it blow my mind?"  
      
"Is over a 150,000 years considered 'mind-blowing'?"  
      
"Considering our oldest known human settlement on Earth is just over 40,000 years, yeah.  Consider my mind blown," my voice hoarse, letting it be known quite clearly how completely shocked and dazed I am.  "Our oldest human relative is about 2 million though."  
      
"And did it look like a monkey?"  
      
"Very much so," I remark with a cheeky smile before frowning at the images.  
      
"Our records are not nearly as extensive as yours since our thirst for complete truth and knowledge of our beginnings is not so all-consuming in the physical, proven, scientific sense, but ours is older by at least three times that much," Ninuk remarks with a sigh, shaking his head.  
      
I smirk, "Did they also look like monkeys."  
      
"I suppose so," Ninuk replies.  "It is widely accepted that we evolved from simple beings into what we are today."  
      
"Not like us, though I blame that mostly on religion.  Who's to say we can't have God and evolution?  It always has to be one or the other."  
      
"Our creation legend is much different than yours."  
      
"You've read the Bible?"  
      
"At great length.  It is an excellent guide to basic morals but not heavy in fact.  People do not seem to understand that a great deal of the work is based heavily in symbolism as opposed to fact," Ninuk muses while I glance over my shoulder at him and smile.  
      
"Will you tell me your creation myth?"  
      
"It will ease your mind," Ninuk affirms, and my smile drops, my thoughts briefly flying back to my father.  Quickly, I turn my attention back to the wall in front of me, following the story timeline slowly while Ninuk speaks, trying to erase the thoughts of my father and his severely lacking moral compass from my mind.  
      
"It began with _Godraja_ , the Goddess, and her energy, which built up more and more through time; all that energy reacted with each other and began to become sentient.  Slowly, beasts began to grow larger and larger, dominating the land until the volcanoes erupted and cleansed the land of all except those who managed to survive, this was the First Epoch, the beginning of intelligent life.  Those that survived the First Epoch began to evolve, growing and growing with time, evolving as their environment did, spreading out and learning, advancing.  The first of all intelligent, sentient beings were the Elders who descended from a race of ingenious, long-lived beings that were the first to evolve after the First Epoch.  They are like us, but different, said to be gifted by the Goddess with longevity, great intelligence, and ethereal beauty."  
      
"And the truth?"  I ask, reading his tone.  
      
Ninuk smirks, "They have evolved from a similar but more complex being than my kind whose civilization and evolution predated our own.  We share a common ancestor, but theirs was more highly evolved.  Their DNA allows them to heal quickly, see and hear that which others do not, have keener minds than even the Tstori, and have a biology that sustains them for exceptionally extended periods of time and give them pleasing bone structure, hair, and features," he shrugs, "which I suppose is close enough to Goddess-blessed."  
      
I laugh but agree, "Close enough."  
      
"The Elders arose first at the heart of the planet before moving outwards in search of knowledge.  My people, who had begun to evolve as well by that time, saw the Elders and began to emulate them, accelerating our own evolution.  For a while, the Elders were worshiped as gods and goddesses, perfect, immortal beings who graced the world with knowledge, kept the peace.  As we grew and evolved, we recognized them not as gods and goddesses, but as another race of people, alike but different."  
      
"They sound like angels...or elves...or faeries," I add absently, frowning as the images as the wall begin to change, becoming darker and odd, shifting from images to symbols.  "What happened to the Elders?"  
      
"We know not," Ninuk admits.  "The stories conflict and are uncertain after a point.  Something happened nearly fifty thousand years ago.  It drove the Elders into seclusion to the point where they are now little more than legend, regardless of the fact that they are rumored to have begun the universal system of _szekzets_ and _lierus_."  
      
"What happened fifty thousand years ago?"  I frown, my fingers running over a blue-green orb that oddly reminds me of Earth.  
      
"A schism in the Elders, though the reason why remains unclear.  It separated them from each other and from their interaction with the tribes.  Scores of tribesmen went missing just before, though there are no _official_ records of that.  And the heartland of our world was abandoned and vacated, lost to us all," Ninuk relays to me while I kneel down, frowning at the vague, hazy but oddly familiar image of a city skyline obscured behind a cloud of dark smog.  The people on the ground look like they're dying, odd things surround them and litter the ground; various multi-colored objects glow eerily through the smog.  
      
Why did they have Earth painted on a rock wall in the middle of a cave town?  What the hell is going on?  My mind goes back to my not-quite-a-dream.  Could it have been some kind of a prediction, painted on the wall as some way of keeping the memory close?   
      
"Around that same time, the disaster happened."  
      
"What disaster?"  I look over my shoulder at him in alarm.  
      
"The population was overrun with disease, wars plagued the land, and famine destroyed many lives.  The land went barren, and Goddess turned against her people.  The seas raged.  Forests burned.  Tornadoes, earthquakes, tsunamis rose and destroyed the land, cleansing it.  Many records were lost to us, especially since most were housed in the heartland.  The only knowledge we have of that time has been passed through word of mouth of the survivors who reestablished their tribes with purposeful principles that all agree upon and continue to enforce to this day.  The fall of our ancestors ended the Second Epoch and gave way to the Third."  
      
Turning from the wall, I study Ninuk silently, "What principles are these?"  
      
"Knowledge gives way to technology.  Technology breeds greed.  Greed breeds status.  Status breeds materialism.  Materialism breeds power.  Power breeds fanaticism as a way to keep it.  Fanaticism breeds ignorance.  Ignorance breeds chaos.  And chaos will be the downfall of the world for the second time," Ninuk shrugs as though this is the simplest ideology in the world.  "We don't wish to eliminate any _single_ part of the cycle.  There will always be development, greed, materialism, elitists, social hierarchy, fanatics, and ignorance.  What we choose to do is not repeat a cycle that already exists.  Unlike your people, we learn from our history and do what we can keep ourselves from repeating it.  That means breaking succession, checking our government, not allowing career politicians and political factions to take hold over us, not allowing only elders to rule the populace with burned out, traditional ways.  It means allowing ourselves to use technology to better society without allowing it to take control of us.  By taking out materialism, breaking a social hierarchy that breeds political, social, and economic inequality that people can delude themselves into thinking is inescapable.  We simplify our life to protect ourselves form reaching a point where we overindulge and lose the true essence of who we are.  Essentially, we do not attempt to dominate nature but work together with it in harmony, recognizing that perhaps 'simplifying' life does, oftentimes, make it easier for us to be lazy."  
      
"I can't survive without electricity," I confess grimly while Ninuk smirks.  
      
"There is nothing wrong with electricity, but we have decided to live without.  Your people fail to understand that it is not that we have no knowledge of these things, we have just found harmony with the Goddess and are unwilling to risk it that fragile balance on unnecessary luxuries that lead to the complete internal annihilation of your own home."  
      
I glare at him despite the fact that he's right, "Touché."  
      
Ninuk laughs, and I pause, really thinking over what he's said.  Schisms of otherworldly beings?  Natural disasters that 'cleansed' the planet?  Records lost?  A ridiculously large knowledge of things they ought not know about?  What could cause a whole planet to make scientific discoveries like electricity and cast them aside?  What are they so afraid of?  Opening my mouth, I hesitate, wondering how to pose the question when the sound of gunshots shatter the tranquility.  
      
Leaping to his feet, Ninuk puts his back to the wall, peering out of an opening carefully and jolting but not jumping back when the sounds of more gunshots tear through the air, "It's not from out there..." he trails off.  
      
"Then where?  It's too close to be in Eden."  It hits me suddenly: my father's subtle taunt that I'd be back sooner than I expected, that something bad was going to happen and if I got hurt it would be on me.  My mother's desperation to keep my inside.  The fact that the streets had been completely empty, though no official warning had been given out.  All of it falls together to make me realize what's going on.  I gasp, spinning to look at Ninuk, "He knew.  I didn't get it, but he told me."  
      
Face falling, a look of understanding flashes across Ninuk's face though he doesn't ask any question.  Pivoting, he grabs my hand, and we run back the way we came, not pausing as we burst onto the walkway.  He whistles, and Xerxes, still exploring the canyon floor, leaps into the air and flies to us.  The dragon barely lands before Ninuk swings himself up onto the saddle, reaching down for my hand.  I give it to him swiftly and he pull me up into the saddle behind him before we take off into the sky, keeping low over the trees.  
      
I don't know where we're going, but it isn't long before Ninuk shouts something unintelligible over the wind rushing in my ears.  Xerxes hears him and veers sharply over an area where I can just see the tumult down below as well as the sound of gunshots that reach me even from this height.  
      
A shrill whinny catches our attention, and we both turn to see Nierox flying towards us hastily, a group of determined warriors following behind.  Ninuk looks back at me, putting a hand on my cheek with fierce look of resolve flashing in his eye, "Go home, Ana.  And I'm sorry."  
      
"For what?"  I ask.  
      
Ninuk shakes his head, glancing over at Nierox who's almost reached us before suddenly and fiercely pressing his lips to mine.  I'm so shocked that I can't think, can't breathe, can't move.  My heart pounds and my mind whirls in circles, a warm, fuzzy feeling blossoming in the pit of my stomach even as the world erupts into chaos below.  I gape at him while he shakes his head, pressing his forehead to mine and holding my gaze, "This is it, Ana.  Everything is about to change.  The radicals will be out for blood, _your_ blood if this gets out of hand."  
      
"Do you think it will?"  I inquire, searching his eyes for some sign of hope.  
      
Closing his eyes, Ninuk shakes his head, "I do not know.  I don't know when I'll be able to see you again, Ana.  Just please, for my sake, stay out of the forest for now and stay out of trouble."  
      
I laugh slightly, no humor in it, "Tell your family I miss them."  
      
He nods and kisses my forehead quickly.  "Home, immediately," Ninuk says, and there's no time to respond before he hops to his feet and leaps into the air just managing to grasp Nierox's saddle and swing himself up onto it.  
      
Laughing slightly hysterically at that disgustingly ludicrous display, I crouch down on Xerxes's back as he tears off towards home, fighting tears.  A feeling like a leaden weight settles in the pit of my stomach.  Ninuk's right, everything is about to change, and the foul feeling that permeates the air around me warns me that there is nothing I can do to be ready for it.  
      
The sounds of war rise from below, haunting me with each minuscule sound.  I tuck myself closer to Xerxes.  I want to go home, but I don't know whether that's Eden or Graer.  And I don't know if either one is safe.


	20. Chapter Twenty

The ball point pen drops onto the surface of the desk only seconds before my head follows it, arms curling underneath with no concern for the examination I'm crinkling.  
      
Last test.  Last day.  And I'm too busy fighting my mounting exhaustion to give a shit in the slightest.  My eyelids droop, and I quickly reach into my book bag and yank out approximately my fourth bottle of Cherry Coke, ignoring the dirty look the test proctor shoots me as the bottle hisses open.  I need the caffeine too much to care about anything.  
      
Pollux sends me a questioning glance, and I shake my head at him, downing the biting, fizzy liquid.  All I want to do is pass out on the desktop, but every time I close my eyes the same images from my three-day long nightmare dance behind my eyelids taunting me and dismantling what little sanity remains.  I mean, after three days of less than an hour of sleep per night, it's a wonder I'm alive and capable of rational thought.  
      
With every attempt at sleep, I see the disorienting kaleidoscope of colors, shapes, and hazy images before it centralizes, though the residue stills blurs the picture and gives it a dreamlike quality.  I see fighting in the street of Eden, women and children running for safety.  Arrows rain from the sky.  Gunshots ring through the streets.  Dogs attack at the commands of their masters.  Tanks roll down the road like cars.  Pterippi gallop through the streets with warriors perched on their backs.  A line of blood trails from a pool, and stops at my house where the scene shifts inside to an unclear figure with its back pressed against a wall breathing heavily, a gun gripped tightly in hand.  The ground creaks as intruders move through the house.  A girl screams.  Someone moves.  A pair of molten gold eyes that morph into a grate.  The image moves up to show a deceptively peaceful knoll that blazes red with fire, waking me up along with it.  
      
Someone slaps my arm, and I drag my heavy eyes from where they are staring with unfocused on concentration on the smart board behind the teacher's head to Pollux who looks concerned, not amused, beside me.  Pushing myself away from the desk, my twin snatches my English exam from me and totes it to the front of the class as I rise to my feet, groggily, and pull my canvas bag—that been functioning as a school bag since Pollux lost (and still hasn't recovered) my original messenger bag.  
      
The pair of us link our arms together, and I walk through the cheerful, ecstatic crowd of high schoolers and middle schoolers rejoicing for the summer months ahead with an odd-of-body feeling.  Only Pollux's sharp tugs keep me anchored on the here and now.  I stumble over nothing and giggle while Pollux pulls me closer to his side as we approach our friends, whispering, "How much sleep have you had, Anastasia, and don't you lie to me."  
      
"I don't know," I muse stupidly, a grin and more laughter threatening to erupt.  _My God I'm slap-happy._ "Maybe two...no...one...I think.  Caffeine is the drink of the fucking gods, Luxembourg, I'm convinced!"  
      
Pollux rolls his eyes, "And you're in desperate need of sleep, Ana Banana, I'm convinced."  He sighs wearily before his face becomes grim, "What did you see?"  
      
The question sobers me abruptly; my smile drops and the light-hearted playfulness dies, "Nothing unexpected, Lux.  And nothing that couldn't be predicted by a child with Internet access or a television set.  Besides, it's all flashes, nothing substantial, and nothing that can be helped."  
      
"Are you sure this isn't just because you miss—?"  
      
"No," I reply coldly before he can even finish the sentence, my face and tone hardening and sharpening like the tip of a blade.  I'm in no mood to talk about this.  In fact, just the slightest memory makes me want to simultaneously cry and punch a hole in a wall.  I'd much rather box up the unfamiliar emotion, lock it away inside, and someday pay a therapist a hell of a lot of money to figure out how to make it completely disappear.  My hand automatically rubs the spot on my chest where the pendant is tucked away beneath my shirt.  "It's been nearly a month, Lux.  I'm over it."  
      
Pollux snorts, "Right.  Just like I'm over Nick—"  
      
"Do not compare Ninuk and I to that asshole."  
      
"—and the military is over their twitchy-ness over a counterattack."  
      
I roll my eyes, "Yeah.  It's been a month.  They should lay off the caffeine and stop being so paranoid."  
      
"The _point_ , Ana, is that no one gets over their first—"  
   
"Don't even fucking go _there_ ," I hiss at Pollux dangerously.  
      
"—serious crush very easily.  You were close friends.  He kissed you.  You two went through a lot together.  You got close to his family.  You're basically a part of his tribe.  He's planning to wage war on the city you currently reside it and hasn't spoken to you in nearly a month.  It's okay to be upset, Ana."  
      
"I'm _not_ , Lux.  Just let it go, okay?"  The lie is clear.  I'm upset.  I'm _really_ upset.  I feel like I'm being torn between two worlds, unsure which one I should give my loyalty to.  Not to mention when I'm not being haunted by visions of apocalyptic proportions that I'm powerless to stop, I'm daydreaming about a kiss that lasted half a second but manages to create butterflies _and_ light my whole being on fire _and_ turn me into a googly-eyed puddle of mush all at once.  A kiss with a man that I haven't seen in nearly four weeks let alone heard from.  And my dad's planning the genocide of a people I've come to feel kindred to.  Not to mention Jace is slowly becoming a skank.  And Pollux is avoiding Mom like the plague, frowning musingly every time he sees her, though he just shakes his head and mumbles an "I'm not sure yet" whenever I ask him what the hell his issue is.  
      
 _Of course I'm fucking upset.  What's there not to be upset about?_  
      
"Hey!  Losers are you coming to the senior graduation tonight?"  Quinn asks with a grin as we approach, and I hurry over to our group of friends, not giving Pollux a chance to press me further.  
      
"They'd better, nigga," Chris responds with a smile while most of the assembled group rolls their eyes at this.  Chris looks like the beardless Mexican version of Jesus and walks a thin line between crazy and sane, pothead and 'lover-of-pot', ghetto and funny.  His Brooklyn heavy slang which includes the word 'nigga', 'yo', and 'hype' are all a part of the neighborhood's ghetto slang heavy culture, which has both diminished and bolstered in the area as of late.  His girlfriend's ability to translate into proper English helps me disregard the slang-heavy cadences.  
      
"Please?"  Audrey begs, batting her eyes at us from behind the lens of her square black glasses.  Audrey is quiet but loud with some kind of Spanish heritage that I'm unaware of and lived in Brooklyn as well, an odd coincidence considering the diversity of the colony, but it's a coincidence that somehow wove Audrey and Chris together.  They have this strange relationship that coasts mildly some weeks, has them ignoring each other another, and has them tongue wrestling at the lunch tables every now and then.  But Audrey just has a soothing, peacekeeper, irritatingly reasonable way about her that makes you unable to fault her for it.  
      
Pollux and I share a long glance before he sighs, "What time is it?"  
      
"Yes!"  Audrey says triumphantly.  
      
"Seven o'clock here in the auditorium," Quinn provides the actual information.  
      
"So what time should we _actually_ show?"  I inquire knowing that Eden's educational system runs on its own time.  
      
Xochitl snickers while Quinn hides a smile.  Santiago pops up, seemingly from out of nowhere with Nicci and an emotional Angela in tow; their best friend is graduating and splitting to go pursue is writing/singing/architecture career at home while they stay here, only two of the three amigos.  Nicci's trying to hide how emotional it makes her while Angela isn't in the slightest; I smile at them while Santiago speaks, "You know about thirty minutes later?  No one's going to show up on time-"  
      
"And then we're going to have to find caps and gowns—" Quinn rolls his eyes.  
      
"And then stupid hoes are gonna be bitching about bullshit—" Chris smiles.  
      
"And all the teachers are going to run behind schedule trying to get them to do what they're supposed to be doing," Audrey shakes her head while we all smirk.  
      
"Gotcha," Pollux nods, grabbing my elbow and towing me away, "Bye-bye, we need to be going home now."  I shoot him an evil glance, breaking free just long enough to hug all of them before he start tugging me away.  They just laugh at my harassed expression.    
  
 _Sigh, my friends are no fricking help._  
      
"Don't we need Jace?"  I dig for an excuse frantically.  
      
"Nope," Pollux feigns a jovial expression, "our sister is hanging out with the hoes, but I'll text her to make sure she's home by six-thirty to get ready and walk with us to the graduation."  
      
I grimace, searching for another possible savior, "Mom?"  
      
Pollux's face hardens like mine does when I don't want to talk about something, his eyes growing cold and his jaw setting, "She's working at the lab, but she'll probably be in town for graduation.  Most people are taking off to see it...not Dad obviously, but that's to be expected."  
      
The walk to the house is short-lived and by the time he stops speaking, we're already bounding onto the porch, pausing by the door so Pollux can fight with the lock for a moment before finally getting the door open.  I follow him inside, dumping my bag on the hook by the door and crossing my arms over my chest.  I tail Pollux to the kitchen.  
      
"What's your issue with her anyway?"  
      
"I..." Pollux trails off.  "I think she's doing something really bad, Ana.  I can't figure out how so I don't want to go there, and I don't have any evidence, not even circumstantial bullshit.  I just don't trust her right now, not either of them.  Dad wasn't completely wrong, Ana.  Mom's interest in the Tstori extend only as far as science and what science can teach them to benefit us."  
      
Nodding silently, I briefly ponder the fact that I never thought I'd ever hear Pollux admit that our father said something correct, at least, not of his own free will.  He bustles around the kitchen while I lean against the counter, swaying on my feet every now and then.  I can't sit.  I have a gut-deep feeling that the moment my ass touches that chair, I'll be a goner, passed out across the uncomfortable marble countertop.  Pollux shuffles around the kitchen, mixing together a bunch of herbs in Mom's glass teapot, pausing every now and then to collect his thoughts before shuffling off again.  I frown, watching him work, not uttering a word until he finishes and hands me a steaming cup of tea.  
      
"Um...congrats on becoming the picture of domestic bliss?"  I offer, raising the mug.  
      
Pollux rolls his eyes, "Remember when I knew about your dream and the sleeping pills?"  
      
I don't like where this is going, "Yeah?"  
      
"Agrit knew," he swallows and blinks back the pain that flashes through his eyes at the mention of our deceased friend, "The last _szekzet_ was his aunt so he knew better than almost anyone.  He started telling me about some of the stuff the _szekzet_ can do and wanted me to know in case something bad happened.  He thought I could help you as much, as anyone can, since only a _szekzet_ can teach another _szekzet_.  One thing he told me about was this tea that his aunt used to brew when she just wanted some nights to herself, not having to share them with dreams."  
      
Eyeing the brown liquid suspiciously, I grimace at it, "I don't know."  
      
"Drink it, Ana," Pollux rolls his eyes.  "I'll wake you when Jace gets here.  You need the sleep."  
      
I take a deep breath and glance uncertainly from my brother to the muddy brown liquid.  The temptation to get some sleep is too alluring of an opportunity pass up.  In a mere seconds, I down the entire mug of tea, ignoring the burn I get in the back of my throat.  Slowly, my mind grows foggy, dampened, and I kiss Pollux's cheek in a daze at the tingly feeling in my mind as I stumble out of the room and upstairs.  
      
Demetri gives me a startled look from where he's curled on my pillow, and I collapse onto my bed, folding myself under the blanket.  I fade into blissful, dreamless unconsciousness.

* * *

 

I'm startled awake by the sound of gunshots and screaming, sounds that are becoming all too familiar to me.  
      
Jerking out of my slumber, I crawl out of my bed, scooping up a terrified Demetri as I slink to the door.  Something heavy slams to the ground behind, and I whirl around, panicked, only to find Xerxes spinning around to peer outside nervously.  Shaking my head, I head out of the room, crossing the hall to Pollux's.  I start turning the knob slowly when it's yanked open abruptly, my brother pulling me inside and slamming the door behind us.  Depositing Demetri on the bed, Pollux and I move to the window in sync, peering out of it and into the distance, keeping most our bodies away from the glass in case a stray bullet decides to find its way through the window.  
      
Outside, my nightmare has become incarnate once again, except this time it's not an unorganized group of rebels practicing extreme vandalism, but warriors and soldiers duking it out on the streets for honor and their own personal visions of what it takes to protect their people.  Arrows rain down from the air.  Bullets fly.  Daggers are out.  Pterrippi gallop down the street while Humvees rush to run them down.  One pterippi takes to the air just before impact, its rider managing to throw a spear through the windshield.  The Humvee swerves and hits the side of the school, and soldiers jump out, shooting up after him.  Pandemonium has overtaken the innocent bystanders running for dear life, more than a few ending up being taken down in the crossfire.  
      
I look at Pollux with wide eyes, "Jace."  
      
He nods, "I've texted her already, Ana."  
      
"Well, text her again," I snap, my voice tight with nervousness.  
      
"Ana," Pollux sighs.  
      
"Don't," I warn, my voice shaking, "it's too goddamn soon to loose hope.  She's okay.  She's just flighty; besides, I wouldn't want her texting and running for dear life all at the same time."  
      
"Ana," Pollux repeats, seriously.  
      
"Lux," I imitate just as severely.  
      
"Go to the lock box, get the guns and ammunition.  I'll grab the first aid kit."  
      
"It's not that ser—" I try to argue.  
      
"Ana, I love them too.  _All_ of them: the Tstori _and_ our people.  But we both know that this is the home of the general of the army, and we need to be prepared for if they figure that out, if they come here and it's not someone we know.  If they come here with intent to send a message to the general the same way he tried to send it to their politicians.  I don't think our friends would let anything happen to us, but this is out of control, out of _our_ control.  So get the guns," Pollux orders me.  
      
I sigh and meet his gaze levelly, steeling myself, "You know where the Kevlars are?"  
      
We move quickly, both of us darting down the stairs and in separate directions, flicking off any lights in our assigned areas to make it look like no one's home.  I pull all of curtains closed, crouching down behind the back door and grabbing the key from Dad's old Buffalo Sabres windbreaker and opening his gun lock box.  Inside is an assorted array of daggers and handguns.  I grab all four of the handguns inside: two glocks, a pistol, and a revolver (all of which we'd learned to shoot at relatively young ages) as well as the three daggers inside.  I lift up the foam and pull out boxes of bullets, sticking them in the pocket of my oversized black sweatshirt and cradling the weapons in my arms before dashing across the hall and into the sitting room just off the foyer.  
      
Pollux is already there, tucking the first aid kit into a backpack along with water bottles and food, just in case this wages on for days, as well as an old transistor radio.  I drop the weapons on the floor beside the Kevlars before whirling around to close the double doors that open the room to the foyer.   
      
We position the antique sofa in front of the doors strategically, leaving one cracked so that we can see out into the foyer while the sofa sits only a few inches in behind so that it can provide a barrier if anyone tries to come in but not so much so that we can't easily leap over it and push if we need to get out.  We crouch together in the dark, and I pull my Kevlar on over my black wifebeater and sports bra before zipping my hoodie back up, absently wondering if the vest will protect us from arrows as well as bullets.  
      
"Flashlights?"  I ask.  
      
Nodding, Pollux and I move in unison, loading each of the weapons quickly before putting more ammo into the pockets of our jeans.  We each strap a knife to ourself, the revolver and a dagger reserved for Jace and dropped into the mesh outer pocket along with the second glock.  Pollux barely has time to throw it over his shoulder as footsteps are heard; we both freeze, afraid to even breathe.  The front door's ripped open and slams, and the footsteps creak across the foyer hesitantly.  Pollux points to himself and then to the foyer doors, and I nod, moving to the door that opens into the back hallway and glancing at my brother.  Though by the time he reaches the door, the person has moved on.  He scowls and shakes his head.  
      
Taking a deep breath, I tie my hair up into a bun and pull my hood over it, taking the pistol in my hands before slowly opening the door and slipping out into the hallway.  I stalk quietly across the floor, thanking any deity that will listen that I'd been smart enough to pull on my ancient Pumas today rather than my squeaky Converse.  I keep the gun in my hands at the ready as I peek past the corner.  Nothing in the foyer.  I turn my head to look across into the dark living room but all I see is a slim, faceless figure walking slowly.  
      
Glass breaks, and I press my back against the wall while the figure screeches in terror, racing into the foyer only to trip over her pumps.  Even now, I roll my eyes.  _Only my sister._ She spins around quickly, trying to get to her feet when a Tstori warrior races towards her, the tip of a spear poised just over her heart.  Moving instinctually, I click off the gun's safety, stepping around the corner and pressing the barrel to his head.  
      
"I wouldn't," I warn him in a low, dangerous voice.  
      
A knife suddenly appears at my throat, "Lower it or I spill your blood all over this floor, _lieks_.  Your choice."  The voice is cold, sharp as a blade, and threatening.  
      
My eyes shift to my sister's terrified face, and my resolve hardens, "I'll die for my family.  He lowers _his_ , I lower mine, and we don't have three deaths just so you can off one innocent girl."  
      
The knife presses more closely against my throat, and I swallow, feeling a rivulet of blood run down my throat, "You are in no position to bargain."  
      
The warrior sounds so sure, that I peer around the side of my hood nearly five warriors in the family room, watching the stand-off.  Glancing discreetly to my left, I notice that the sitting room door has been closed.  I shrug, "I like these odds.  My luck's not run out yet."  
      
Pollux gets it and leaps from the room, pointing his gun at our sister's attacker while I slam my head back against my own, but he moves quickly, grabbing my throat and holding it at that angle and adjusting the knife.  At the same time Pollux demands, "Move that spear  Because you'll be _dead_ before they have time to put an arrow in my head," my hood falls off so that I can—despite the dim interior—make out that the person holding my life in the palm of their hand and is threatening to kill my siblings is...  
      
"Ninuk?"  
      
"Ana?"  He asks, completely thrown, his knife dropping reflexively.  I scramble away from him and over to Pollux while Ninuk just looks haunted and shocked, "Pollux?  What the hell are you doing here?"  
      
"Better question," Pollux snaps, "what the hell are _you_ doing _here_ with the clear intent to kill?"  
      
 _Yeah, that sure as hell is a better question._  
      
Crossing my arms, I raise my eyebrows at him, half hiding behind Pollux who doesn't take his eye or his gun off the man with the spear.  The Tstori archer responds in kind.  My trigger finger twitches in response to the threat on my twin, but I control myself, wiping the blood dripping down my neck from the thin cut instead, shooting a withering glare at Ninuk.  
      
He snaps out of his bewilderment, his face going blank as he walk to the spear-bearer, putting a hand on his arm, "Jral."  The man hesitates, but a firm nod from Ninuk has him lowering his spear uncertainly.  He turns to look at Pollux and says his name while I interrupt.  
      
"I don't think so.  Too many people, too many death threats, too much confusion as to what you're doing in my house.  She puts down her bow, and he puts down the gun, no arguments," I say to Ninuk coldly.  He grits his teeth and looks back at the archer who reluctantly lowers her weapon, glowering at me.  Ninuk raises his eyebrows, and I put a comforting hand on Pollux's arm.  He slowly lowers the gun while I reach down and help Jace to her feet.  "Okay," I breathe calmly before focusing a glare on Ninuk, "what the _hell_ is going on?  Attacking innocent children has never been considered 'suitable retaliation' on either the military or the government.  So start talking or I start shooting, you lying little jackass."  
      
One of the warriors takes an angry step towards us, and Ninuk holds up a hand, pain, anger, and, what might be, regret flickering through his eyes, "Ana."  
      
"Don't you fucking 'Ana' me, Ninuk.  All I want from you right now are answers, nothing else."  
      
"I didn't know it was you," Ninuk shakes his head, scoffing.  "All I knew was that this is where the general's family lived."  
      
"No shit Sherlock.  Why are you trying to assassinate children who have nothing to do with this war?"  
      
" _Skepi-lieru_ who is this?"  The shield-bearer asks.  
      
"The _szekzet_ ," the archer breathes out in surprised realization.  
      
"Nothing to do with this war?"  Another warrior scoffs, "Tell that to your own people."  
      
Pollux's head swivels to look at them, "What do you mean?"  
      
Jace tugs at my sleeve, "You know them?"  She's terrified and betrayed, I can see it in her eyes.  My heart clenches, and I don't know what to say in defense of them or myself.  
      
"I'm sorry," I finally manage.  
      
"You have to understand, Ana," Ninuk begins, taking a step towards me.  
      
I smack him with a malevolent glare, taking two steps away, keeping Jace behind me, "I don't _have_ to understand anything, Ninuk.  You tried to kill me."  
      
"I didn't know!"  
      
"Would that have made a difference?"  
      
"We're not going to hurt you, Ana.  _I'm_ not going to hurt you," Ninuk whispers, his voice steely, though I can hear the undertone of his begging me to believe him.  
      
I don't.  
      
"It's too late for that," I confess, and he halts, looking at me sadly as I study him warily, hurt and betrayed and unsure whether or not I can trust him.  Pollux is looking from face to face with rapt eyes.  
      
"They took her, Ana," Ninuk pleads with my quietly, anxiety and anguish lacing his every word.  "Your soldiers took Khione in the attack on Graer.  Her and several others, men and women, of all ages."  
      
This brings me up short, and I shake my head in denial, "No."  
      
"Yes," Ninuk argues, cautiously taking a few steps towards me.  
      
"No," I repeat strongly, "I mean, why?  Why would they take a bunch of people?  I thought the whole point was eradication not kidnapping.  What the hell do they need Tstori for?"  
      
"Oh my God," Pollux exclaims, and we all turn to look at him.  His eyes meet mine, and they're wide with understanding, shock, and despair; he swings his gaze out to look at everyone, "Give me a moment."  He takes off for Mom's study, and Jral makes a move to follow him while Ninuk shakes his head, letting him go.  He returns not a minute later, walking over to me with some of Mom's manila file folders.  
      
He holds it up, "You remember this?"  
      
"Yeah," I say slowly, "they're check ups, physicals, right?"  
      
Pollux shrugs, "Preliminaries before experimentation.  They're on natives, but I didn't understand until that fight Mom and Dad had about genocide and her experiments.  They're kidnapping natives to study them.  The Tstori would never give their permission for scientist to run tests on them, and even if they did that would mean lines would have to be drawn.  Lines that couldn't be ignored since the scientist, at least, know how smart the natives are.  It explains why the Nirutū are so angry considering how similar their circumstance is to the Tstori and why they mercilessly attack Jericho _and_ it inhabitants, particularly naïve, innocent visitors," he looks pointedly at me, referencing my attack.  "It's their form of retaliation."  
      
"Yes," Ninuk admits, looking at me guiltily.  "We have been planning this for over a month, Ana.  Despite the bombing, Kvon and I forged an alliance with the new _lieru_ , Swaktsi, once he admitted they're tribesmen have been the victim of kidnapping."  
      
Realization hits me, "That's what you apologized for.  You knew you were going to attack my town."  
      
"Ana," Ninuk tries to reason with me.  
      
I shake my head, "Don't, okay?  I just...don't."  
      
"What would you have me do, Ana?  I have people I love and I need to protect.  I cannot allow my feelings for you to cloud my judgement and allow your people to kidnap and attack and oppress," Ninuk argues.  
      
I'm only vaguely aware of how everyone's mouth drops open in shock, but I'm too angry to heed anything he says right now other than what's pissing me off, "That doesn't give you the right to attack children!  You had to have known equally as long that you would be doing _this_!  You wouldn't have apologized for just striking back, and I wouldn't expect you to!"  
      
"They kidnapped children!"  
      
"And that gives you the right to lower yourself to their level?!  I mean, you would have killed my sister if Pollux and I hadn't been here."  I reply back at him tightly, and he hesitates, obviously uncertain of what to say to me.  I swallow back tears of frustration, anger, and utter betrayal, looking back at Jace and over at Pollux before exhaling and shaking my head, "I can't do this."  
      
"Ana," Ninuk says quickly, walking towards me while my head whips frantically from side to side, backing as far away from him as I can.  He looks at me with regret and pain in his eyes, though I can see him fighting for control of his emotions, "Ana, please."  
      
"No," I answer tersely, my voice beginning to crack.  An image that has been plaguing me comes to mind, and I realize where I've seen it before.  The realization comes accompanied with a steely determination and a strong sense of resignation.  I know what I have to do, and I look at Ninuk, torn between understanding why he'd done what he did and being livid that he'd sink to murder, intimidation, and assassination when I'd expected so much more from him.  I want to just be outright furious that he'd been planning premeditated murder of a family—my family—for weeks weighs on me.  A part of me knows that I should stay and try to work through this, regardless of the fact that it could end up hurting me more, but another part grasps the chance for distraction and avoidance.  
      
"No," I repeat the word with more hard determination in it than before, though it's not unwavering.  "I can't even look at you.  You're just another stereotypical soldier with no regard for innocent human lives.  And I don't want to be around that.  If I did, I'd just spend more time with my _father_ ," he winces at the accusation, and I brush past Pollux and up the stairs, carefully tucking my pistol in my pocket and not looking back.  
      
I open the door to my bedroom and breathe out shakily, fighting back tears.  Xerxes peer up at me curiously while I shake my head at him, "Fat lot of good you were.  I thought you were supposed to keep me safe."  The dragon huffs like this whole accusation is ludicrous while I grab a knapsack, worn and dirty, from the corner of my closet, swinging out of the window.  I look back at the dragon, blinking back tears and leaving only sheer determination of willpower in its wake, "I'm ready.  Let's go."


	21. Chapter Twenty-One

A very large, very reasonable, very un-listened to part of me acknowledges that this is probably the worst idea I've ever had in all seventeen years of life.  
      
Another very big part of me doesn't give a shit and realizes that this needs to happen.  
      
And another part of me, that seems to have examined this situation from every angle possible, doubts that I'll be getting out of this one alive, or, at least, without being labeled a race traitor and thrown to the metaphorical wolves.  My only small comfort is that I'm the _only_ one who's going to do this, the only one who's going to risk this, the only one who is going to get hurt.  
      
Then, there's the only part of me that I'm _actually_ listening to, which shuts out all those other thoughts and emotions and focuses on the reality of the here and now.  The here and now being: _How exactly am I to see an in-ground, grate in a field of tall grasses while dusk is falling since I can't use a flashlight for fear of getting caught?_  
      
It's bad enough that I can't land since landing a dragon in the middle of an empty, guarded field might draw some unwanted attention to us, but it's even worse that I'm basically just going to have to wander around in said grass until I find it.  Xerxes flies higher, flying parallel to the paved, single road leading outside of the war torn, chaotic town, passed the suburbs, which seem to be in much better shape than the main portion of the town, though there military's presence there is undeniable.  We continue down into the beginning of the plains, the military presence thickening with every meter closer we get towards where I assume the lab to be.  
      
A helicopter rises in the distance, and Xerxes reacts before me, veering up and disappearing into the clouds, using them as cover to maneuver around the massive flying vehicle.  I lean over the side, narrowing my eyes and trying to use the last lights of the sun to make out anything I could on the ground even through the clouds, though I don't expect to see much of anything, especially since the 'last light' is actually a sliver of dark purple that gleams on the horizon while the dark stretch of star and moon hovers above it.  Luck has not been on my side for a long time, but I have to try to find the grate before landing because I'll only have moments to slip inside before they move in if I'm spotted.  Despite the fact that they rarely look up for a singular flying creature when the Tstori travel in small groups, I have very little doubt that they'll notice my drop off.  There's not much chance of hiding a dragon when they've never been spotted (even on Eden) spontaneously deciding to landing the middle of an open field before taking off again.  Yeah...right.  
      
"Come on, come on," I say to myself in frustration while Xerxes lazily circles from above; I turn my head to the sky and close my eyes taking a deep breath.  "I'm not one for God or Goddess or whatever, but if there's any kind of cosmic or karmic bullshit really out there, please, please, please just show me the fucking grate," I hiss into the night sky, eyes flying open when the sound of copter blades close by leaves me ducking low onto Xerxes's back and hanging on for dear life as he swerves out of the way.  He drops altitude so quickly that I grit my teeth in pain, my ears popping, before he swerves out of the way, dancing and twisting rapidly to avoid both the helicopter and being seen by it.  
      
It's pure chance.  
      
The helicopter's spotlight, runs across the ground, and I catch a glimpse of metal in the grass only a few meters ahead.  I bang on Xerxes's back, and he drops lower, skimming the blades of grass.  Glancing up at the helicopter, I take a deep breath and count to three in my head before tumbling off the dragon's back, closing my eyes and tucking my arms into my chest.  
      
The knapsack breaks the fall, and I get to my feet, crouching low in the reeds, watching as Xerxes flies up into the clouds.  For a moment, I remain there, still watching the helicopter move farther away, and the dragon circle in the clouds above me where I know he'll remain reluctantly until I need him to help me get away.  My heart thuds in my chest while my gut twists with nerves at what I'm about to do.  Taking a deep breath, I take off before I can think about it anymore, keeping low in the grasses with one eye on the helicopter.  It only takes moments to reach the grate, but I pull up, testing its weight and scowling, aware it's going to take a hell of a lot longer to actually open the thing.  
      
Glaring at the bolts holding it in place, I open the book bag and grab out a wrench, setting to work removing them; the process takes too long, is nerve-wracking, and tires me out before I even begin what I came here for.  When I'm done, I drop the wrench beside the hatch, take a deep breath, and turn my attention back to the grate, huffing at the heavy-looking hatch.  I slide my fingers through the slits and fight against the weight, pulling it with as much strength as I can muster, which isn't much given that I avoid any kind of extraneous activity barring my training sessions with Ninuk.  
      
My arms are quivering under the effort, but after a moment, I manage to pull it up just enough to kick the wrench and wedge it into the slit, holding up the grate.  Releasing it abruptly, I collapse, sitting down beside the grate and glaring at it with irritation and hate before kicking it as hard as I can with my foot.  There's not a ridiculous amount of pain, but there is just enough to make me grind my teeth together and stifle a groan before kicking again and again and again even when the wrench falls down into the abyss below.  I don't stop even when my foot goes numb.  
      
When the grate finally has opened wide enough to fit me through, I stop and pull out my flashlight, shining it down into the hole, relief settling through me as I look down and see nothing.  I'd been worried someone could have heard, but it seems unlikely considering it just seems to disappear straight down.  Dry, hot air blows up my way in gusts.  
      
I've found the vents.  
      
Shuddering, I breathe out in contentment and relief at the metal hand holds making a ladder up to the top of the hatch.  I hook the flashlight's material loop around my wrist before pulling on the backpack and shimmying into the hole.  With a profound sense of impending doom, I climb down.  
      
I've had this inane fear of falling for most of my life, falling into a blackness that swallows me up.  This abyss is every soul-deep nightmare I've ever had.  If I fall now, that's it.  I'm dead and gone and chances are, no one will even know that I'm down there, I've made sure of that.  " _If you stare into the Abyss long enough the Abyss stares back at you_."  Tearing my eyes away from the blackness, I tighten my hold on the rung and clench my jaw.  _Curse Nietsche and his fantastic fucking quotes_.  
      
Steadying myself for a moment, I descend as quickly but as carefully as possible.  Above the night sky becomes tinier and tinier until it is barely even a distant speck, and I hesitate when I reach a swinging wall vent.  Tightening my hold on the rung, I reach out with my free hand and yank open the grate, carefully climbing inside the air shaft.  It's not tiny, but it's not huge, and I crawl through the shafts quickly, not turning down any side halls, afraid I'll get lost if I try.  
      
The sound of voices stops me before I realize that they can't see me, and I crawl further, pausing to peer down through a vent to see a funky, storage closet-like space full of artifacts.  A pair of scientists are dressed simply in jeans and polos, their lab coats lying haphazardly on the backs of their chairs, and hunch over a table where they are both writing furiously, open textbooks surrounding them.  They seem to be in the middle of the conversation.  
      
"Andrew?  Do you know how much was injected?"  
      
"I'm not sure exactly, but I heard it was a lot directly into the blood stream," Andrew answers absentmindedly.  
      
"And it actually shrunk?"  The woman sounds really excited about this for some reason, and I wonder silently _what_ has been injected into _who_.  
      
"Indeed, Sandra, it seems to have first spread rapidly, then slowed, and then stabilized—"  
      
"—and now it's decreased!  If they can only isolate what—!"   
      
I move away, down the hallway, glancing into the equidistant vents as I pass over them.  There's several rooms combined together full of artifacts, posters, and paperwork as well as several darkened rooms whose ominous insides left me shuddering for no reason other than my own imaginings.  My stomach clenches; I've been here too long already, and I haven't found any sign of the Tstori or Nirutū 'test subjects'.  If I venture off down the side hallways I'll wind up hopelessly lost, I know, but even so, I don't know how far down the compound actually extends.  There's a biology department, for sure, probably ones for chemistry, botany, anthropology, archeology, most likely one specifically for 'research and development', a term that has almost always been synonymous with the advancement of military arms and warfare in general.  With all of that, the subjects could be anywhere.  
      
"...on Sub-one," a cool, clipped feminine voice chirps.  
      
I raise my eyebrows and peer down through the vent to see a sharp woman in heels, a pencil skirt, and angular glasses that match her sharp face, talking while simultaneously reading a chart before looking up at the grungy androgynous person with shaggy hair and a blatant love of everything sci-fi (if the Star Wars shoes, Star Trek backpack, and vintage Alien t-shirt are any indication) standing in front of her with awkward expectation.  
      
" _That's_ where the stodgy, paper-pushers are located.  I work," Mom's friend, Myra Johnston, says contemptuously, "with the chemists two floors down on Sub-Three.  _You'll_ be working on Sub-Four with the other biologists and have direct access to the subjects on Sub-Five.  Your key card grants you access and logs everything, but some subjects are off-limits and for those, you need the PIN, which you can ask either the branch heads for or the department head, got it?"  
   
"Sub-level five," I mouth the words to myself.  _And we're on one...numbers go down..._ I whirl around and go back the way I came, picking my way through the tunnel and hesitating for a moment, attempting to center myself before I pull myself onto the ladder once again.  
      
Taking a deep breath, I glance at the tunnel I'd just exited, "One."  Down and down, I go as carefully but as swiftly as possible, counting each time I pass an air shaft.  I descend deeper and deeper in this technological hell, blackness swallowing me up.  "Five," I breathe in relief, my arms quivering for about the hundredth time, already exhausted by their usage.  I pull myself into the hole, glancing down, though all I see is more darkness, no ending or clue to how far down it extends.  I shudder and turn into the hall, peeking down through the first vent I pass, only seeing a walkway of concrete bathed in bright fluorescent light that hurts my eyes to look at.  
      
Pressing my ear to the vent, I listen for noise only to hear nothing at all, not even a rustle.  Frowning, I ponder whether or not Myra had mixed up the level of the subjects, but knowing her overblown ego, I find it doubtful.  _Only one way to find out_ , I sigh and pull up the vent shoving the hatch to one side while fishing the rope out of the backpack as well as duct tape.  I flick off the flashlight, putting it in my backpack before wrapping the rope's end in an aglet of tape and taping the whole thing down to the side of the vent by using an absurd amount of the miracle tape.  The last time I'd used this backpack or taped a rope to a flat surface had been when this pack had been created: in July when we'd gotten on board the shuttle that had taken us from Earth to Aurora.  Pollux and I had taken to exploring the crevices of the shuttle when we grew bored, but we'd put away our toys when we'd finally moved.  Last time, the rope had held, but it was never a sure thing.  
      
I tug on it, dropping it through the opening before shimmying down, landing in the aisle and looking around.  My mouth falls open.  The walkway is lit by bright white lights and reveal plexiglass cells, completely opaque like one way glass in police stations.  The cells are all spaced an a foot apart and seem to stretch on and on in all directions without ending, floor to ceiling.  I wander down the pathway to a bigger one that stretches clear across the width of the room, an elevator sits at one end while a monitor sits at the other.  Hesitating, overwhelmed by the sheer numbers in this room, I walk towards the elevators, stopping at one of the cells to reach out, touching the cool glass surface.  
      
Light ripples under my fingertips, and the cell's wall becomes translucent, though tinted.  A dim light glows from inside the cell to show a broken, exhausted man lying on his stomach, his whole body covered in a thick layer of sweat and dirt.  A keypad appears on the wall, and I hesitate staring at the words just over the keypad: **Scan ID Card or Insert PIN**.  Groaning in frustration, my hand hovering over the keypad, I look up at the man desperately, "Hello?"  
      
"Who..." he slurs the words slowly, looking like he's incredible pain; his tone is odd.  And I can't place his meaning, "...you?"  
      
"Ana," I tell him, "a friend of the Tstori tribe," I finish so that he doesn't think I'm going to hurt him.  He raises an eyebrow skeptically.  There's something familiar about him that I can't place, a feeling like I've met him before, though I don't know where or why.  "I'm looking for Khione.  She's a little girl about nine or ten."  
      
The man nods, "I...know...her.  The...kids...all...at end."  
      
"Of this row?"  I ask.  
      
Nodding slowly, his hands clench while he bites his lip, grunting in pain at just that simple action.  His eyes snap open, and he looks at me pleading, "Kill...me...please."  
      
I fight back tears and shake my head.  "I can't," I admit in a broken whisper, "I don't have the code."  The guy drops his head against the concrete, back arching in pain while I swallow back bile and walk down to the end of the row.    
      
 _What are they doing to these people?_  
      
As I walk past, I tap the glass, peering inside as the dim lights flicker on.  Some look as bad as the first man, some look wary but unharmed, and some seem unharmed but have a haunted look in their eyes that frightens me more than the people sprawled on the ground, curled into balls, or slumped brokenly do.  I'm nearly at the end when I do a double take after tapping a cell, peering back into it to see a familiar petite figure pressed against the back corner of the cell with her knees drawn up tight to her chest, arms wrapped around them, and head resting on her thighs.  
      
"Khione," I breath in relief, and she jerks her head up.  She looks close to uninjured except for her swallow skin, sunken cheeks, and tangled hair, though she has the same haunted eyes as the others and a dozen light bruises on the inside of her elbow.  I frown at the oddly placed bruises, forcing a smile, "Hey Khi."  
      
"A-Ana?"  Khione asks hesitatingly as well as suspiciously like I could be a hallucination.  
      
Nodding, I offer her a watery smile, "Yeah.  I'm gonna get you out of here, Khi."  
      
For a moment, her haunted, dead gaze seems to flicker with something that looks like hope, though it disappears, blown out like a candle flame.  
      
The elevator doors hiss open.  
      
Cursing, I duck behind the end of the row, peering around the side to see the grungy man from upstairs come in with Myra.  She looks around emotionlessly, and I pull back, breathing heavily, and wait until the elevator doors hiss shut again to look around the side.  Myra is gone, and the androgynous figure remains, tucking a shimmering, holographic card into his pants pocket; my eyes widen, and I move before really thinking my plan through.  
      
I pull out my gun and move behind him as quietly as a ghost, pulling out my gun and pointing it at him, clicking off the safety.  The figure freezes, whirling around to stare at the muzzle of my gun before shifting his attention to me.  I see two things: the man is...well...a _man_ and he's barely older than me.  His age makes me falter, but I check myself remembering the half-dead man who'd asked me to end his suffering and bright, adorable Khione who'd acquired both a broken spirit and inner torment that hadn't seemed to stop when whatever they'd done to her had.  She can't stay.  I'm bringing her home.  
      
My grip tightens on the gun as I reaffirm my stance, recovering from my moment's hesitation.  The guy grins, moving closer to me at a daring lope, telling me he's not intimidated.  I take a step closer to him, the gun ending up only inches from his head, and he freezes before his grin widens, "You won't do it.  You might be a traitor, but you're not a killer."  
      
I regard him silently for a moment, letting him take one more step towards me while my eyes trail down to the pocket where his key card disappeared to.  My gaze travels back up to his, and I give him a sickly sweet smile, "You're right."  Triumph flashes through his eyes while I shrug, a quick guilty feeling going through me, "Sorry."  He frowns, and I slam the butt of the gun against the side of his head as hard as I can.  He drops to the ground, and I kneel down, checking his pulse.  When I find it pounding strong, I pull the card out of his pocket and dart back to Khione's cell.  
      
The cell lights up again, and Khione's head perks back up, looking at me like she's trying hard not to be hopeful.  Unsure what to do, I hold up the card, and a light blares out, scanning the card before the keypad disappears.  There's a low click before the door slides open.  Khione hops to her feet, staring at me in shock, eyes watering.  
      
"Ana?"  She whispers.  
      
I nod, not fighting my watery smile, "I'm going to bring you home Khi."  
      
Khione looks at me, lips quivering, tears falling from her eyes without an volition of her own.  She nods, walking slowly and unsteadily out of the cell, and I frown, studying her and wondering if she'll be able to make the climb before dismissing the idea.  There is no other option.  We can't just walk out the front door.  She pauses, leaning heavily against the outside of the cell and looking at me uncertainly, "What about them?"  
      
I frown, peering around the huge room before I look back at her guiltily, "Khi, we don't have time to get them all."  
      
"Ana," Khione pleads, sounding tortured, "please."  
      
I can see it in her eyes—the same golden eyes as her brother—that she needs to do this.  I sigh, nodding, "I'm getting you up into the vents though, just in case.  I made a promise to myself that I'd get you back to your brother.  I'll tell you how to get out, but you can wait up there and help others up into the air shaft.  But when I tell you to run, you fucking run.  You get to Xerxes, and he'll take you home."  
      
"I can't—"  
      
"You _will_.  No excuses.  No matter what, because I don't know how the rest of us are going to get out of here, but I know that _you_ will, understand?"  
      
Khione's jaw clenches, but she nods tersely, a fierce look of determination spreading across her face.  We move quickly, through the maze of cells, and she struggles to climb up the rope while I bark directions at her that she absorbs slower than usual though still faster than most people would be able to.  Once she's up and secure with one of my father's daggers in her possession, I move as quickly as I possibly can unlocking row after row of the cells, glad that all I have to do is wait a few seconds for the keypad to disappear before I can move onto the next cell.  
      
In ten minutes, a huge portion of the room's occupants are free, though some remain in their cells either unable to make the journey or unwilling to try.  They stagger where that I direct them, following the sound of Khione's soft voice calling for and encouraging them.  Some hurry, practically vibrating with nervousness and anxiety, while others have their arms thrown over the shoulders of their fellow prisoners in an odd moment of unity and cooperation that I haven't seen before, practically crawling towards the vent.  I don't say anything about the fact that we'll have to climb dozens and dozens of ladder rungs to reach the surface or that I don't know how I'm going to get everyone who makes it to the surface all the way to the safety of the forest or even off the property.  But there's an air of acceptance in the air.  They all know this is impossible, but it's better than the alternative so they suck it up and climb while I continue moving methodically, opening cell after cell.  
      
"What the hell is going on here?"  A familiar, pretentious voice demands in shrilly voice.  I rush from where I am and down the aisle, freezing at the end to stare at a shocked Myra.  The chemist peers around, face red as she backs to the door, discreetly reaching for something.  I curse, realizing she's about to call security; she continues talking, "Nolan?  Nolan Phillips, what the hell are you doing?"  Her voice trails off as she no doubt catches sight of his body, eyes going wide before they narrow dangerously, "What the—?"  
      
"Run," I shout, and everybody picks up the pace as Myra whirls to face me, her shock evident.  
      
"Anastasia Mikos," she grinds out through clenched teeth.  "Your mother would be heartbroken."  
      
"I'm sure," I reply, holding up my gun and aiming at her.  "Don't move, Dr. Johnson.  I'd hate to have to shoot."  
      
Anger transforms her face, "You little—"  
      
The elevator doors ding open.  
      
"No!"  I shout, pulling the trigger as she dashes inside; the bullets lodge themselves into the industrial metal doors, missing the woman by mere inches.  I run after her but the doors slide fully closed, and the elevator's gone before I can reach it.  "Goddamn it," I hiss, running through the crowd to the opening and peering into it, "Khione!  We have to get everybody out now."  
      
"Why?"  She shouts back in alarm just as the lights shut off abruptly, plunging the room into darkness.  Screams rise from the crowd as well as a low murmur before a loud alarm blares to life, so deafening that I cover my ears instinctively.  Several red lights flicker on and off in time with the horn.  "Let's go!"  
      
The people move faster, and I jump as a hand grabs mine.  I turn to see the odd man from earlier standing before me looking wan and sickly, hunched over and struggling to stand while his disgusting, sweat-soaked locks swing around his face.  His breathing is shallow but there's a fierce conviction in his eyes.  The strange familiarity remains.  "Give me the card," he demands.  
      
"What?"  
      
"The card that lets us out.  Someone has to lead them to safety," I open my mouth to argue that Khione will when he cuts me off, " _Safety_ , not the surface, _szekzet_ , there's a difference."  I'm so taken aback by his use of the word that I don't resist as he pulls the card from my fingers, but I grab his wrist before he can move away, unsure what I want to ask, "I will die today," he informs to me quietly.  "But I'll be damned if I don't give others their chance at freedom before I do, and you should do the same."  
      
We face-off for a moment, studying each other like we're looking for the secret of the universe.  "Take this," I put my gun into his hand, "I trust you know how to use it, even though you shouldn't," a tired smirk spreads across his grimy face.  And I nod before whirling around, grabbing the rope and heaving myself up into the shaft.  
      
Inside the dimly lit corridor, it's pandemonium, but it's _organized_ chaos.  Khione has managed to get everyone moving in the right direction, staying close together and quiet.  Screams of terror come from behind us.  I spin my head around, craning my neck to see what's happened, but the opening is too far away.  We have to keep moving now, though the sound of gunshots still echo in the distance.  
      
The fear is tangible as we move together in a group, and I look up when we reach the main, vertical air shaft to see a line of people struggling up the rungs, side-by-side, helping each other despite their physical and mental fatigue.  I fight a proud smile as I look at all of them, fighting their exhaustion, fear, and defeat to reach a surface where there's not much hope.  It's uplifting and unexpected.  
      
I swing myself onto the ladder and climb.  
      
The ascent is swift and silent, all the sounds of the atrocities that we all know are being committed back in the holding cell areas gone; the open sky appears sooner than expected, one moment I'm climbing, and the next, the people in front of me disappear and the glow of moonlight smacks me in the face before hands yank me out of the hole and drop me unceremoniously on the ground.  Even up here the alarm blares, and I look around through the grasses, the helicopter coming towards us, it's spotlight locked on us.  
      
An odd feeling spreads through my body, "Get down!"  Everyone ducks just as they start shooting, "This way!"  We hurry through the grasses, making a break for the plains.  Men, women, and children crouch in the grasses, praying for their lives as the helicopter continues to rain bullets.  There will be no warning, no asking us to stop since we know and have seen too much.   
      
Left and right people fall, and their neighbors shout in alarm or sob but keep going.  People keep moving in the direction I point them in, and I take a moment to pause, looking around to see people falling from gunshots.  Khione is stumbling along with two children who barely look six years old, and I make my way over to them, stumbling when I see the Humvees and armed foot soldiers coming towards us.  
      
One of them sees me standing tall amongst the grass while everyone else is crouched and takes aim.  The shot is fired, and before I can even think to duck, Xerxes drops between us.  He squeals out as the bullets hits him, and, moving quickly, I run to his side and crouch down to study where the wound should be.  There are several a large dents in a few scales, and I yank the bullets out, dropping them onto the ground and smiling at the uninjured dragon, "Drama queen."  He squawks, affronted, and I swing myself up onto his back, directing him at a run towards Khione and the two kids.  
      
Just as we reach them, I slide off, grabbing Khione's arm, "Get out of here."  I physically try to shove her into the saddle as if she's a doll and not a pre-teen  
      
She resists, "I cannot leave—"  
      
"You'll take them, and he'll bring you home," I order.  Khione nods and climbs on unsteadily while I pass her the two children before putting a hand on her knee.  "No heroics.  You've done enough."  Khione fights back tears, and I look at Xerxes who looks reluctant to leave me, but I pat his head with feigned reassurance, "Take her home, Xerxes.  For me."  He presses his head into my hand resolutely before leaping off into the sky, swerving to avoid the bullets chasing him.  
      
Mistakenly, I watch them disappearing, forgetting to keep cover, and something slams into my stomach, tearing through the skin in an angry, fiery trail.  I gasp, doubling over in pain.  Slowly and gently, I lift my sweatshirt to see a deep, trench of skin, blood gushing out of it.  It throbs, and I gasp in pain, pressing my arm to it before I turn back to start running with the others.  
      
It's just a graze... _a deep graze_ , but I've never experienced that level of pain before.  Every step is agony.  I can hardly breathe, and the wound cuts clear across my whole stomach, creating a deep bloody gash from ribcage to ribcage.  I'm stumbling over my own feet, dizzy from the pain, and I trip and fall heavily to the ground.  I curse, biting my lip as I struggle to my feet, and try to ignore the feeling of a thousand knives…on _fire_ …stabbing into my gut as well as the way my whole sleeve is being soaked with a warm, sticky liquid that smells like rust.  I look up to see most of the crowd only meters from the plains, though I know without help, it won't matter; they won't make it far without cover, though they'll surely make it farther than me.  
      
My vision blurs, and I look behind me to see the soldiers almost surrounding me and growing closer to the escapee research subjects, the, in the words of my father 'monkey-brains'.  I'm dazed and disoriented, but the soldiers falter in surprise and wariness for a reason I don't understand.  They've practically reached their quarry, the slowest of the escapees...me with the others mere yards away...why stop?  I stumble again, falling down and clutching my stomach, tears rolling down my face.  My eyes roll up to see a pair of hooves rising in the air a little ways away from me.  I smile grimly.  
      
 _And the Calvary has arrived..._  
      
There gunshots and hoofbeats and screams and cries of pain and death and despair.  The world goes out of focus as someone yanks me up carelessly and sets me on my feet, dragging me along through the crowd of soldiers pressing forward to attack the Tstori warriors that stand between them and the escaped prisoners.  One of my blood covered hands reaches up to rest over the necklace hidden beneath my clothes while my gaze drifts to what's behind me even as I'm being pulled away.  
      
My eyes meet a pair of familiar, burning molten gold ones that widen in surprise, fear and an intense concern flashing in them.  Sound grow distant, fading.  I'm cold and numb, the edges of my vision going black.  I'm shaking.  I see Ninuk, and I think he's yelling while trying to fight the onslaught of soldiers with a strange curved sword I've never seen or trained with before. Iroal sits behind him shooting arrows.  
      
 _It was Theodore_...a disjointed voice in my head admonishes.  The epiphany comes swiftly as my time in Eden flashes through my mind, picking up the familiar frame, eyes, and once shaggy haircut.  And before I have a chance to wonder why I hear Ninuk talking about how the Jennings will never see the light of day and my father's comment to Mom about her playing with her "monkey-brains and traitor-brains".  
      
I feel fire lick through me, completely invading just before my whole body gives out.  I let myself drown in gold.  
      
My world goes up in flames as it all goes black.


	22. Epilogue

I awake in a very pretty prison cell that is clearly not my bedroom.  The lights are too bright, the cot is narrow and uncomfortable, and the thin sheet covering me is not fleece with panda bears on it.  Wordlessly, I sit up, pausing to blink in dizziness and pain at the feeling the sudden motion causes me.  I pull up my shirt to see the wound has been cleaned and bandaged.  It's more than I expected.  
      
Sighing, I climb to my feet, ignoring the sharps stabs of pain from the cold tiles against my bare feet as I pad around the room, which is empty save for the cot.  I feel shockingly numb but force myself to push back the tsunami of emotion that threatens to overwhelm me as my dazed, disjointed memories come back to me at once.  Theodore's dead.  I saved a least three kids.  Ninuk found me and managed to save his people.  
      
 _And I am a traitor._  
      
It's a rude awakening, and suddenly the empty room, cot bed, and gray cotton scrubs that I'm wearing make a hell of a lot more sense.  I reach up and pull the elastic they'd allowed to remain in my head out, fixing the sloppy bun just as there is a loud beep and the door swings open to reveal Micah...in uniform.  For a moment, I gape before composing myself, crossing my arms to glare at him just on principle.  
      
 _I didn't even know people could enlist this young._  
      
"Let's go, Ana," Micah says wearily, regretfully.  
      
Squaring my shoulders, I walk towards the door, but he stops me, displaying a pair metal armbands.  They're the more than just ugly accessories to my bland ensemble; they are, in fact, new cuffs that activate when both are cuffed onto the criminal's wrists, creating some kind of weird Star Wars-esque, glowing pulses between them that can't be separated and emits an electroshock should they try to be broken off.  I give him a haughty look and let him put them on before holding my head up high and following him out of the weird hospital-jail hybrid to an elevator, not once complaining about my freezing little toes.  
      
When elevator stops, we walk in silence down a long, stark hallway, pausing outside of a large, dark door.  I stand a just behind Micah and glare at the back of his head angrily.  It's not his fault I'm here, but I need someone to blame and víola...behold the whipping boy.  
      
"Come on in, Micah," a muffled, grainy voice says from an intercom.  
      
I raise and eyebrow, tilting my head to look into the camera over the door before following him in.  I stop just inside the door while Micah takes off my cuffs and salutes my father stiffly before exiting, shutting the door behind him.  
      
Dad sits behind a large desk, and the room is sparse, devoid of any knick-knacks, save for his military metals on display; there are no pictures of the family, but then, I'm not so sure I was expecting any.  He closes his laptop and leans back, looking at me with anger smoldering in his eyes while Mom leans against the wall behind him, seeming troubled and uncertain.  Dad's eyes fall on someone behind me, and I feel a warm hand wrap itself around mine.  Immediately, I relax, clinging to the last shred of sanity and righteousness I have left in the world: my twin.  
      
"You two have really outdone yourselves," Dad snarls angrily.  "My own children: race traitors.  Do you have anything to say for yourselves?"  We glare at the man in mutual silence.  "How long have you been cavorting with savages?"  
      
"Cavorting?"  Pollux asks in disbelief.  
      
"I wasn't _sleeping_ with him," I snap at our father, angry that he'd even suggest it.  Honestly, did the man know me at all?  
      
"What were you doing then, Anastasia?"  Mom jumps into the conversation anxiously, "Gone all the time, risking your life to rescue one of their own, and this..." she holds up my lotus necklace, and I snatch it out of her hands angrily, ignoring the warning look that Pollux shoots me as well as the way my father's eyes darken in anger.  Some things are sacred, which my parents don't seem to understand.  Mom releases it without a fight.  
      
"Nothing," I snap, "he just taught me how to fight."  
      
"Why?  Planning on running away and joining their army?"  My father bites back at me.  
      
"Something like that," I reply caustically just to piss him off.  
      
"Him, who?"  Mom inquires.  
      
Pollux and I look at each other, making the split second decision not to trust them; I shrug, "I don't know.  They have such weird names, you know?"  
      
Our parents look doubtful, and I hear a small exclamation and look over to see Jace sitting in a chair in the back of the room, ready to speak up.  Pollux whirls around and hisses at her angrily, "Shut your trap, you little blood traitor, I think you've said enough."  My eyes narrow on Jace as she shrinks back into her chair, avoiding Pollux's gaze.  Now I see who'd ratted out Pollux's involvement.  I squeeze his hand.  
      
"Don't talk to your sister like that just because she knows where her loyalties lie," Dad barks at Pollux.  
      
My brother stares back, "I know where my loyalties lie.  You're just pissed it's not with you."  
      
"My own son gives his allegiance to a bunch of uncivilized, weather-beaten, warmongers."  He looks disgusted, though no one mentions that Dad all but outright disowned him since the day he'd 'come out', relatively speaking.  
      
"No, I give my allegiance to my sister and my conscience.  We can't all be made of ice," Pollux replies, and I grip his hand even tighter while our father's face turns red.  
      
Mom touches his shoulder, and Pollux shoots her a disgusted look, though I manage to refrain.  Dad relaxes just slightly as he pins me with a glare, done with Pollux.  "I want to know what you know about them, and don't try to bullshit me, Anastasia.  You wouldn't risk your hide—certainly not Pollux's as well—and your anonymity for just anyone.  You know something," he warns me.  
      
"I won't tell you anything," I shrug, done with the games.  "Our lives are over anyway.  We're traitors.  What are you going to do, torture us?  Go ahead.  Turn us into Theodore?"  Everyone's gazes snap to me as I say that, shocked at my knowledge; my lips curl into a sneer, "Try it."  
      
"You think you're so tough," Dad retorts coldly.  "Perhaps I should."  I know I've won.  Dad won't get anything out of me, and he'd never be able to make Pollux talk.  
      
"Enough Galen, Ana," Mom interjects.  She turns to the two of us, a desperate, pleading look in her eyes, "Your Dad and I discussed this.  You're being exiled from the colony.  You'll finish schooling out with Grandma and Grandpa in New York and live there.  You won't return..." _but you'll be alive and unharmed._   It goes without saying.  
      
A pang blossoms in my chest at the thought of never coming here again.  Never riding Moose through the forest.  Never flying with Xerxes.  Never visiting Chisely and Raval again.  Never threatening to shoot Iroal with arrows.  Never seeing Ninuk again.  I swallow hard but force myself to remain impassive.  
      
"And you'll keep your mouths shut about what happened here," Dad warns, getting to his feet.  
      
"And if we don't?"  I challenge.  
      
"Who will believe you anyway?"  Dad calls my bluff.  
      
I glare down at the floor.  Pollux has gone rigid since the announcement, "When are we leaving?  Do we have time to get everything together, to say goodbye to our friends?"  
      
"It's all been taken care of while you two were...away," Mom answers.  
      
Frowning, I glance over at Pollux, realizing for the first time that he's dressed just like I am.  My hand closes around the necklace tighter.  It's all I have left of him...of this world now, and, if Dad gets his way, it may someday be the only thing at all the remains of them, depressing as the thought is.  
      
"The shuttle is leaving early, _today_ ," Mom tells us.  "And you two _will_ be on it."

* * *

We are brought on the massive 'shuttle' before anyone else arrives; it's more like the small version of a cruise ship since it has to provide space for luggage, exports, barracks, and entertainment for the people traveling on the two month long, cross-universe flight.  Our room is a tiny closet with bunk beds, but we don't complain since we're both too morose about leaving to care, though at least Pollux got his phone back so he can text goodbye to everyone we  do care about.  
      
Trunks of our belongings are stacked under the beds, and I sigh, looking out the window and down at the street below.  Pollux moves up beside me and looks down at our impassive father, traitor of a sister, and conflicted mother with dark, humorless eyes.  He shakes his head before climbing into his bunk, putting in his earbuds, and drowning himself in a world of music.  I give him a worried glance before turning back to study my troubled, broken family, not even the slightest twinge of regret that I'd refused to hug any of them goodbye, even for appearance sake.  
      
Moving away from the window, I hop up onto the bunk, pulling my knees up to my chest and leaning against Pollux, staring up at the ceiling.  I play with my necklace, eyes roving over the lotus flower as the captain announces that we're about to take off.  Swallowing back the bile that threatens to rise, I turn my gaze back to the window, watching as the ship rises higher and higher above Eden, the forest sitting on the horizon.  I feel like a part of me is being ripped away, leaving only a blood, gaping hole behind, dramatic as it is.  
      
"I'm not ready for New York," Pollux whispers in confession to me.  "We belong here, with them."  
      
I nod in understanding before admitting, "I don't think New York is ready for us."  I look over at him seriously, "We're not the same people we were, Pollux.  We'll find our way back home even if it means doing something shady and dangerous."  
      
"That seems to be becoming a common theme," Pollux remarks lightly, grimacing in distaste.  
      
I give him a wicked, mischievous smile as I throw my arm over his shoulder and kiss his cheek, "Relax, Pollux, try to to live a little."  
      
Pollux grins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it. I wrote the second one already, but I have no idea when I'll get it up.


	23. Don't get too excited

Hey, if you liked this story (fingers crossed because this is my absolute baby) and am kind of pissed off with how I left the ending and then was like 'sucks to be you, I'm too lazy to post the second onto AO3 right now), you can check out my [blog](http://alejandrameetsalyx.wordpress.com/2014/11/03/the-aurora-trilogy/) where I posted the pdf links so that you can download this and the second one (because I'm nice like that...but the editing isn't the greatest because right now I'm in the middle of NaNoWriMo). It also has a blurb up for the third and final book, which I'm in the process of writing along with my NaNoWriMo novel and my schoolwork and whatever the hell else I do with my life like work (which, okay, I'm kind of avoiding right now because  _reasons_ ), and if you're really nice to me and check out my blog and reading my books, then I'll be even nicer and maybe not work faster on finishing the third book but post up excerpts because I can actually be nice. That happens.

Anyway the word [blog](http://alejandrameetsalyx.wordpress.com/2014/11/03/the-aurora-trilogy/) is a link to my blog. Check out some of the other stuff too like my poetry and my main blog-a-sphere because I did work really really hard on it and even forgot that it was originally for class and my teacher will be reading it...oops. I'm also putting it up in the main little blurb-itty bit but that'll just be the general blog so...love me and look at my blog. And read my book. And just be really nice to me because I moved to a whole other country, currently have no friends to speak of, and get teased about my American accent so I'm feeling especially vulnerable right now. Just saying.


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